Mourning Dawn: Prelude to The Wand of Elder
by seomensnowlocke
Summary: This is a story that covers the few days after the end of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Contains the scenes that I wish had been in the main book. This story is also a prelude to another story I am working on called The Wand of Elder.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: _

_This prelude is a bit of therapy for me. It is my way of putting the incredibly wonderful canon of Harry Potter to rest in my mind. I felt after reading the book that JKR had ended the story perfectly. She let us know, in a general way, what happened to the characters, but she did not tell us the details. This will leave the world of Harry Potter fanfic alive for years to come. Thank Goodness. _

_This story is my way of detailing some of the immediate aftermath of the main story of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It is also a way of fleshing out and solidifying the relationships and the emotions of the characters after the battle. JKR hinted at these themes, but thankfully left much to our imaginations. _

_This is also a prelude to a larger story that I will explain after the last chapter of this tale. This prelude introduces the themes and characters which will important in that lengthy work._

_So I leave this author's note and begin this story at the point where JKR left the final installment of her masterpiece. We pick up the story right where she left off…_

"I think Harry's right," said Hermione quietly.

"That wand's more trouble than it's worth," said Harry. "And quite honestly," he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now of only the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, "I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed them under his glasses with his fingers. He, Hermione and Ron turned wearily towards the door to the Headmaster's Office. As Harry crossed the room, his eyes slightly unfocused, a shape like a diminutive black bat caught his attention.

It was a picture frame in which the figure stood, watching him with beady black eyes. It struck Harry suddenly that the size of the picture frames on the walls must be determined by the length of time during which the headmaster served. He realized this because the figure stood in a very small frame on a narrow strip of uncluttered wall near the door.

Severus Snape was the only former headmaster in the room that was not smiling proudly down at him. Harry stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh!" whispered Hermione softly from behind him as she saw what had caused Harry to pull up abruptly.

"Blimey!" breathed Ron.

Harry took an uncertain step towards the portrait, and then another. Within a few heartbeats he stood before his former Potions Master. Harry exhaled heavily, just realizing that he had been holding his breath. Snape glared at Harry without expression. Harry opened his mouth, but then shut it again. He had no idea what to say. He tried to start again, but he could think of no appropriate words.

A slight sardonic smile played across Snape's colorless visage.

"Well, Potter," said the portrait, the ever-present sneer in his voice, "it seems I have finally managed to prevent you and your friends from speaking out of turn."

Harry felt a sudden urge to laugh. The ludicrous awkwardness of this situation was too much for his weary mind. Harry felt an insolent grin spread across his face. Snape's face became thunderous, and he looked like he was going to say something biting. Harry forestalled him by speaking first.

"Professor Snape," said Harry loudly, molding his own expression to that of stern respectfulness. "May we be excused, Sir? We are very tired, Sir, and would like to be off to bed."

Harry heard the tone of awe in his own voice, which had never existed while Snape had lived. For the first time in seven years, Harry had not added any sarcasm to the word "sir." All of the portraits in the headmaster's office had gone silent, taking a break from their celebrations as their painted eyes absorbed the interplay between Harry and Snape. Snape said nothing, but Harry saw his eyes dart towards Dumbledore's portrait. Snape's severe expression softened, if only by a hair.

"Very well, Potter," said Snape. "You…may go."

Snape and Harry watched each other without expression as Harry held the door open for Ron and Hermione. Holding hands, they preceded Harry from the room. Harry nodded to Snape as he began to exit the room.

"Potter!" said Snape sternly just before the door closed.

"Yes, Sir?" asked Harry, peering back at the portrait.

"Well…done," began Snape stonily, looking surprised at his own voice. Then the portrait figure took a breath as if bracing for something painful. "That was…very well done."

"Thank you, Sir," said Harry softly, and he let the door click shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

The trio walked in silence for several minutes, making their way across rubble, shattered glass, and blasted suits of armor. They did not speak, as their tired minds attempted to cope with the enormity of the previous night's events.

Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione's fingers remained interlaced tightly as they moved through the corridors. He doubted that the two of them would let go anytime soon...if ever. Harry had a sudden and powerful urge to hold Ginny, but he knew that she had more important duties to her family just then.

Eventually the three friends came to a set of steps at the end of a long corridor. To the left and up the steps would take them to Gryffindor tower. To the right and down was the Great Hall. They could distantly hear the sounds of commiseration and celebration, which were still in full swing.

"Well, I better get back to Mum and Dad," said Ron shakily. "They…uh…right now they…" he trailed off. Ron's face was screwed up strangely. Hermione was suddenly not holding his hand, but hugging him fiercely around the middle, as if she could squeeze the loss of his brother out of him. She blinked rapidly as he gave her a watery smile. He encircled her shoulders with one arm as he looked back at Harry. "Well, you know," he finished.

"I know, Mate," said Harry softly. He felt the lump in his own throat as Fred's laughing face swam in his vision. It was a laugh Harry knew would never be heard again. He pushed the image away with a shudder; he was not ready to deal with that yet. "Hug them all for me…please. Tell them I'm sorry, but I just need…I just need to sleep…for a year."

Ron attempted a cocky grin with little success. "Well, you had a big night, didn't you? You died, had a chat with Dumbledore, came back to life, and vanquished the most powerful dark Wizard of all time. Probably should get a kip after that."

Harry grinned back, "Well yeah. That makes me sound a lot cooler than I was, though, doesn't it?"

Ron's smile solidified, and it was sincere this time. "That stuff always sounds cooler than it was, Mate. I've been trying to tell you that."

Hermione looked at the two of them, becoming aware that this was an inside joke to which she was not privy. "What on earth are you two talking about?"

"I'll tell you later," said Ron. "Someday soon." Hermione sniffed, but did not pull away.

She then turned her gaze on Harry. There was a very earnest expression on her face.

"Harry," said Hermione, "I wanted to tell you something, and I am not sure this is the proper time, but I don't know when it will be." She looked very uncomfortable, but sighed and decided to go on. "When we thought ….when Hagrid carried you into… and you looked dead…" She broke off, unable to finish, tears filling her eyes.

Ron's amusement was gone too, replaced by an extremely brotherly expression. "Yeah, Mate. It was…it was like…when I saw Fred…"

Harry did not quite know how it happened. Within a moment the three of them stood in a triangular hug. He felt Hermione's arm around him on one side, and Ron's on the other. Both of them were crushing the wind out of him, and he was giving his best effort to do the same to them. The three of them clung to each other for several minutes, the silence broken only by Hermione's sniffles.

"You did it, Harry," said Hermione, her voice muffled by the robes of the taller boys. "I don't know how, but you did."

"We did it," Harry contradicted her. He heard the choked sound of his voice. "If you two had not been there...If I had lost either of you…" he could not finish. The thought of a world without Ron and Hermione was simply not to be thought!

"Bloody hell! You…we… we did do it, didn't we?" mumbled Ron gruffly. "Bloody effin' hell!"

The three laughed at Ron's epithets from the middle of their three-way embrace, but they held on to each other fiercely. Harry did not want to ever let these two go. Ron and Hermione were the first real friends he had ever made. Somehow in his first attempt, he had managed to find the two truest, bravest and most wonderful people that could ever be called his friends.

He loved them both so very very much.

Eventually, the three broke apart, all feeling sheepish. All were chuckling at their outburst, while Hermione hastily wiped tears from her cheeks with a corner of her robes. At length, they parted company, but before Ron and Hermione left, Ron suggested Hermione needed her rest too, and that she should go up with Harry to Gryffindor tower.

"_I_ am staying with _you_," said Hermione, giving Ron her best don't-be-an-idiot look. She attached herself tightly around his waste again, and Ron visibly decided gallantry had its place, but not here or now. Hermione and Ron made their way awkwardly down the steps like a strange four-legged beetle.

"Ron," Harry called, a sudden concern shooting through him as he watched the couple walk away, "please tell Ginny that I'll explain…"

"Don't worry, Harry," interrupted Hermione soothingly, looking over her shoulder with a weary smile. "I think she'll be ready to hear it soon enough."

Ron whispered to Hermione, "Yeah, and snog his brains out…ooof!" Ron let out a rush of air as Hermione jabbed him in the ribs.

"What?! You think he heard that?" asked Ron indignantly.

Harry smiled as their voices trailed away around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Then he turned, swaying with tiredness, and made his way towards his comfortable four-poster.


	3. Chapter 3

Kreacher was as good as Harry thought he would be. In fact, a sandwich was already waiting for Harry on his bedside table as Kreacher helped Harry get into his pajamas, and exclaimed pityingly over the bumps and bruises on Harry's body. The elf was as respectful and subservient as he had ever been since his transformation back in August. As Kreacher continued in his comical obsequiousness, it would be difficult for any person to suspect that the elf was being named, along with so many others, as one of the heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts.

After the requisite exclamations of concern for his master, the elf began to bow himself out of Harry's dormitory, still empty of its other occupants, and wishing Harry a frog-voiced goodnight.

As Harry leaned back in his bed, he looked at the house elf fussily tidying a few things near the doorway before making an exit. The change in Kreacher was apparent just from the look of him. He looked younger, cleaner and more put together than Harry had ever seen him, with his tufty white ear hair shining in the sliver of light from the cracked dormitory door, and a smart Hogwarts elf uniform hanging on his elderly elf body.

A sudden inspiration struck Harry and he sat up. "Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master Harry? Is there something else Kreacher can do before bed?" Then under his breath, Kreacher added, "My poor master. The whole world on Master's shoulders, but Master won't sleep. Sometimes Master is such a headstrong boy."

Harry was amused by the fact that Kreacher still managed to make his disapproval known, though at least it was now never mixed with prejudiced commentary.

"Kreacher, I want to ask you a question and I hope that you will answer it honestly, if you please?"

"Of course, Master," croaked Kreacher. Then Kreacher whispered, "The young master keeps himself awake with questions for a house elf, but perhaps he will fall over and then the questions can wait until my poor master is more rested."

Harry paused for a moment and considered how to ask his next question. He didn't want to upset Kreacher, but Harry felt that his conscience required him to give the house elf some kind of a choice.

"Kreacher, you understand that before last night I could not let you out of my service don't you? You knew too much about the Order of the Phoenix and the war against Voldemort."

"Yes, Master," said Kreacher, his shaking ears conveying an emotion that Harry could not decipher.

"And Kreacher, you understand that Dobby was my friend, don't you? He was a true and loyal friend and I never wanted to do anything to upset him or hurt him."

"Yes," said the elf, his face stony.

"I…I'm not sure how to ask this Kreacher, without upsetting you. But I think of you as my friend now, too. Do you understand that?" asked Harry.

Kreacher studied Harry for a moment. The elf seemed to be mulling over his words carefully, as well.

"May Kreacher ask something, Master?" said Kreacher finally. Then under his breath, "There was never a kinder master, but not very observant."

"Of course," said Harry hopefully. "Ask away."

"Master understands that Dobby was a very…unusual elf?" croaked Kreacher.

"Yes I do."

"Dobby was so unusual, Master, that if Kreacher was offered that … thing… that Dobby prized so much, Kreacher would think…" Kreacher could not finish and could barely keep the disgust out of his voice. Then Kreacher continued in a whisper, "Horrible! Criminal! Kreacher would have to punish himself painfully for days."

Harry sighed. Well, that answered that question. "I understand, Kreacher. You may go."

"Thank you, Master," said Kreacher. The relief in his voice was palpable. The elf went back to fussing with the things by the door. Harry watched Kreacher for a few moments, his eyelids getting heavy.

"Master, may Kreacher ask another question?" said the elf.

"Go ahead," said Harry, his eyes popping open again.

"Should Kreacher prepare the house for you, Master Harry? Will you be returning soon?" Harry could hear the anticipation in Kreacher's voice.

Harry had not thought of this. He had not really thought of anything beyond Voldemort. Now, however, Harry realized he had to figure out where he was going to live. He was not thrilled with the idea of returning to the Black's ancestral home at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, what with the screaming portrait of Sirius' mother, and the elf heads upon the walls. Unfortunately, Harry had nowhere else to go. He was sure the Weasleys would take him in, or he could rent a flat, he supposed, with his money in Gringott's. With a smile, he thought of the murmurings that would issue from Kreacher if he suggested either of these ideas to the elf.

With the mention of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, it suddenly dawned on Harry that he had not yet even asked Kreacher about the elf's tribulations after the Death Eater's became aware of the house's location.

"Kreacher? How is the house? Were the Death Eater's terrible or…?" asked Harry in a guilty voice.

"The Death Eaters desecrated the sacred and ancient House of Black with their evil presence, Master Harry, but the scum did no permanent damage," said Kreacher angrily. Then he mumbled, "Filthy criminals and their talk of Mudbloods. As if Master Harry's young Muggleborn friend was not the essence of nobility. But Kreacher got them. Oh yes, Kreacher did!" Harry fought down the urge to smile at Kreacher's changed perspective over the past year.

"Got them, Kreacher? How did you get them?" asked Harry, curiosity swelling within them.

"Kreacher tore down the curtain covering the portrait of my mistress, Master. The scum did not stay long when mistress told them what scum they were." Then he muttered some things that Harry could not quite make out. Harry formed a mental picture of many Death Eaters entering the house and being greeted by a screaming and outraged portrait that could not be silenced. "And of course, Kreacher activated the house defenses, Master."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "House defenses? What house defenses?"

"Protective charms and jinxes, Master Harry. Master has seen them, I think. There are jinxed clocks, tripping furniture, trick steps, sleep charms, and fear charms. The scum did not like those things much, so the scum searched quickly for my poor young master and left when he was not to be found."

"I hadn't realized…" said Harry, intrigued. He would have to get more details of these features of the house. "What did they do to you, Kreacher?"

"The scum did nothing to Kreacher, Master. They ignored Kreacher until they were about to leave. Then the scum asked Kreacher what Kreacher knew, Master, and threatened to hurt Kreacher. Kreacher told them that Kreacher knew his master was a good master, and that Kreacher knew the scum were not fit to lick the young master's boots."

Harry's eyes widened in shock and appreciation for the elf's bravery. "What did they say to that?" asked Harry with a grin.

"Kreacher does not know, Master, because Kreacher disapparated upstairs and hid in Master Regulus's room until they left. The scum thought that Kreacher could have gone anywhere, so the scum did not search the house for Kreacher again." Then Kreacher muttered in scandalized tones, "The scum ate the steak and kidney pie, the thieves and villains."

"How did you come to be here at Hogwarts, Kreacher?" asked Harry.

Kreacher shrugged. "When the young master and his friends did not return, Kreacher thought they might come here, so Kreacher came here sometimes to check for his brave master." The elf touched the Hogwart's uniform hanging loosely on his little frame. "Dobby gave Kreacher this so that Kreacher could come and go without notice. Dobby was very worried about the young master."

"I am glad you did," said Harry, nodding slowly. He felt tightness in his chest at the mention of Dobby.

Harry was thoughtful for a few moments and then he asked, "Are the defenses you mentioned…are they still activated?"

"Yes, Master," said Kreacher.

"Can you deactivate them? Can you put the house back the way it was?" asked Harry.

"If Master wishes," replied Kreacher.

Harry sat for a moment. The simple truth was that Harry had to live somewhere this summer. Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was as good as anyplace, and nicer than most, if it could be fixed up a bit. In truth, the elf's defense of the house on Harry's behalf made the place seem more like…like it belonged to Harry.

"Does that mean that Master will be returning home?" prompted Kreacher.

"I think it…does," said Harry thoughtfully. "I reckon you should go and get it ready then Kreacher, once you have gotten a bit of rest and something to eat."

"As Master commands," said Kreacher with a bow.

"One more thing, though," said Harry as Kreacher straightened up attentively. "Kreacher, you understand that since the house is now mine, I want to make some changes?"

Kreacher said nothing but looked uncomfortable.

"I will want to, um, redecorate," continued Harry. "Are you willing to help with that, Kreacher?"

Kreacher studied Harry for a long moment, and then exhaled heavily. "You are Kreacher's master now, Master Harry. Kreacher is glad about that. It is Master's home now, to do with as he will." There was not resignation or disdain in Kreacher's voice. He just sounded like a person in mourning, who has long delayed the acknowledgment of a deep loss, but is relieved by the act of acceptance. Harry felt sympathy for the elf.

"It is your home, too," said Harry consolingly. "So long as it is my home, it will be your home too, and you will have a place there."

"Thank you, Master," said Kreacher, looking down at his feet, his orb-like eyes shining in the light from the doorway.

"It will probably be several days or longer before I can make it back, Kreacher. I will trust you to get the house ready until then. I think you know that my tastes are a bit, um, different from that of Sirius's mother. I trust that you will clean the house in a manner that I will find acceptable and enjoyable. I will give you only a few specific directions," said Harry.

Kreacher gazed at Harry attentively.

"I want you to take the portrait of Sirius' mother's down from the wall, if you can, and those mounted elf heads," said Harry.

Kreacher looked very apprehensive for an instant, but then his look of acceptance returned.

"Yes, Master," said the elf in a small but steady voice.

"I also want you to make the house ready to receive guests this summer, just in case we have any. So prepare the bedrooms." Harry paused here and thought for a moment. He was pretty sure Ron and Hermione would want to visit the place now that Harry could claim it as his own. Maybe some others?

"_Maybe Ginny?" _thought Harry wistfully.

"But don't touch Sirius' room, Kreacher," Harry continued. "I want to be there before we do anything with that."

"Yes, Master," croaked Kreacher.

"We also need to think about _your_ room, Kreacher," said Harry pointedly.

"Master?" asked Kreacher, surprised.

"If you like, you can move out of the little cupboard. You can pick any bedroom in the house as your own, except Sirius's room. And uh, while you're cleaning the house, if there are any Black family heirlooms or decorations that you would like especially to keep an eye on, you may store them in your room with you so long as they are not dangerous and do not contain dark magic. I would like you to set aside any dark or dangerous items in a safe place for me to take a look at when I get there."

As Harry spoke, Kreacher slowly gave an awed and uncertain smile. The expression would have seemed horrible to any person who did not know the elf, but it gladdened Harry's heart to see that look on Kreacher's gnarled and weathered face.

"And you can even take Regulus's room, Kreacher, if you like. How does that sound?" finished Harry.

Kreacher stood stock-still for several minutes, his eyes wide in rapturous disbelief. Harry just smiled at his elf in a kindly fashion and waited for Kreacher to digest his master's largesse.

"Thank…you…Master," whispered Kreacher. Harry saw tears glint on the elf's sandpapery cheeks. "May…Kreacher go now?"

"Sure. Goodnight, Kreacher," answered Harry.

"Thank you, Master," said the elf, and he quickly opened the door to leave.

"Kreacher, you are a very good elf, and the very best servant I could ever want," said Harry softly as the elf began closing the door.

Harry could see a shiver of overwhelmed pleasure pass through the silhouette of his elf in the lit doorway.

"It is very easy, when it is Harry Potter that Kreacher serves," said his elf, the bullfrog voice sounding so much more choked than normal. "Sleep well, Young Master."

Then Harry was alone, and sleep quickly took him.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry was having a very pleasant dream.

He was holding a slender and supple girl in his arms while she kissed him lightly on the cheek and neck. As her fiery hair sheltered him, she held him tight and whispered wonderful things in his ear. Just as he bemusedly thought it might be appropriate to respond in kind, an imperious voice shattered his night fancy with vituperative indignation.

"Miss Weasley!" barked the voice.

"Professor!" squeaked someone near Harry's ear.

"What?" said Harry groggily. Harry gained a vague sense of awareness as a very attractive, slimly athletic form slipped from his grasp and out of his four-poster. He began groping for his glasses on the nightstand and heard the sound of air blowing angrily through two stern nostrils.

"G-Ginny?" he asked stupidly of his ex-girlfriend's back as she stood erect by his bed. On the other side of her was an outraged Professor Minerva McGonagall.

Harry could see the professor's mouth moving quickly and he dimly perceived that she was reading Ginny the riot act, but he did not seem able to grasp what was being said. Harry felt like his mind was moving with the alacrity of thick mud. He felt as if he had been sleeping for weeks.

"S'bloody hell is going on?!" he slurred irritability.

"And you, Potter!" said Professor McGonagall, her eyes flashing as she raked him with her piercing gaze. The heat of her anger was the heat of a forge; the air moving through her nostrils was air blowing through a blacksmith's bellows. "I was not aware that your recent victory gave you license to turn Gryffindor House into a bordello!"

What with having the full fury of Minerva McGonagall directed at him, Harry's brain suddenly kicked into a low gear. He was half-sitting up in bed, in his pajamas. Ginny was standing nearby, flustered, and she was in her nightgown. None of Harry's roommates were in the room, and Harry had a sinking feeling that Ginny had just been in bed with him.

"What?" he asked blankly, sensing his imminent destruction.

"Please, Professor!" beseeched Ginny. "He didn't even know I was here. He was completely sacked out. I couldn't sleep…and I just climbed into…" She cut off as her face blazed a shade of brilliant crimson that would have made Ron proud.

With a sense of profound regret, Harry wished he had woken up just five minutes sooner.

"Get to your own bed, Girl!" snapped the professor, the briefest flash of sympathy crossing her face. Harry had always thought of Ginny as fearsome and fearless, but at that moment she hiked up the hem of her nightgown and ran.

"What?" breathed Harry again. He watched as Ginny's train of shimmering hair bobbed its retreat. He looked up at Professor McGonagall and blinked like a drunken man. "What?"

"Oh, shut it, Potter!" snorted the professor, but there was not much heat left in her voice. "Go brush your teeth, and splash water on your face. You've been asleep for a very long time, and I expect you are somewhat groggy. I need you alert."

"What?" asked Harry again. "What time is it?"

"I am not really sure myself, Potter," said Professor McGonagall wearily. "It is about an hour or two before dawn on the day after you killed Voldemort." Harry could see deep lines of exhaustion on Professor McGonagall's face, and he suspected she had slept little, if at all, since the battle had ended. "Much is happening, and I need to speak with you briefly. Now, Potter!"

Harry swayed as he jumped out of bed. He reached for his basket of toiletries, and then blearily realized that he had not been at Hogwarts for a year. All of his things were still in Hermione's small beaded bag, which was God knew where at that moment. He did not think this would be a good time to point out such concerns to Professor McGonagall, so he simply made his way to the lavatory.

As he stumbled to the basin and began splashing water on his face, it struck Harry that he had never slept through an entire day before. It reminded Harry of a story Fred had related about Fred's Uncle Bilious after one of the old man's more inebriated and infamous wedding performances. The poor old fellow had slept for two straight days in order to recover. Harry smiled as he remembered the story.

Then the events of the previous days crashed in on Harry like a falling wall. His knees shook, and he slumped onto the loo, covering his face with his hands. He fought back the burning behind his eyelids.

"Fred," he whispered, closing his eyes tightly. "Remus, Tonks, Colin." How many more had there been? He had not even found out all the names of the casualties before coming up the night (or was it the day?) before. Was that heartless?

Harry raised himself off the loo, and returned to the basin, splashing more water on his face. His Head of House needed him alert and he could at least pay her that courtesy. Mourning could wait. He had years left to mourn. He felt a twinge of guilt about those years that were now available to him, but not to his dead friends.

He looked around the lavatory and noticed how stark it was. Without Harry, Ron and Dean at school the previous year, the communal space would have been largely free of its usual piles of clutter. Plus, Neville and Seamus had been hiding out for weeks in the Room of Requirement. In mute testimony to their more recent absence, two lonely towels, stiff from weeks of neglect, hung on a rack meant to accommodate five.

Preferring to drip-dry rather than use either of the soiled towels, Harry tried to turn to happier thoughts. He took a moment to think of what had transpired while he slept. Ginny had crawled into bed with him! Had that dream been real? Had she really whispered those things?

His heart suddenly lightened considerably, and Harry felt a stab of guilt for the good feeling. Ginny had lain in bed with him, hugging him, whispering to him. He remembered Tonks' and Lupin's faces, peaceful in death. He could still smell Ginny's wonderful flowery scent clinging to his skin. He saw Fred's staring eyes. He saw Ginny's blazing look.

Harry shook his head violently to clear the wonderful and terrible images from his skull. Instead, he let his mind drift, and did not think about anything in particular. As the water evaporated from his face, the coolness cleared the last of the cobwebs.

With sudden rueful realization, Harry murmured to himself, "Are you a wizard, or what?"

He pulled out the newly repaired holly and phoenix wand, which he had stuffed into his pocket before going to bed. Putting it to its first real test since its repair, Harry set about conjuring himself some toiletries as well as a soft, clean towel. While he was at it, he transfigured his pajamas into a set of casual, but smart, wizarding robes. If nothing else, at least McGonagall might be pleased with the additional skill he had achieved in her subject over the past year.

As he emerged from the bathroom, McGonagall stood up briskly from where she had slumped on the edge of his bed. She managed to cover her tiredness well. She looked him up and down quickly.

"Nicely done," she said crisply. "I will be brief, Harry. We will need to sit down after all of the -" she looked uncomfortable for a moment "- all of the _to do_ of the coming days, and discuss things in more detail. Preferably we will do so with Kingsley once he gets a free moment, but of course that could take weeks. The poor fellow has been chased for sixteen hours straight by every bureaucrat in the ministry, and there is still so much to be done!"

"Professor," interjected Harry, "what is there to do? Isn't the war over? Haven't we won?"

"Of course we have, Potter!" said Professor McGonagall, looking down her nose at him as if she had never heard such a stupid question. "I dare say that you were there, were you not?"

"Right," answered Harry sheepishly. "What I meant was, what more could there be to do, uh, since that is done."

"Much to do, Harry," said Professor McGonagall with a shake of her head. "There are trials to be arranged, interrogations to be held, and Death Eaters to be rounded up. In addition, there are many posts at the ministry to be filled to replace the dead or those who've scarpered. That is not even mentioning the arrangements for all of the students, their exams, their transport to and from the school this week. Then there are the funerals and memorials, and we must make arrangements for the orphaned."

"Oh, yeah, right," said Harry, feeling like he had just been hit several times with a bouncing bludger. Suddenly an image swam into Harry's mind of Lupin smiling down at a photograph of his baby boy with purple hair. "The orphaned."

"Anyway, Harry, I am here to ask a favor of you, but it is for your own protection. I need you to give me the wand."

"You want my wand, Professor?" asked Harry, holding up the holly and phoenix wand, but he knew immediately what she meant.

"The other wand, Potter, the other wand," said Professor McGonagall impatiently. "The wand you took from Voldemort."

"Why do you need that wand, Professor?" asked Harry cautiously. Was this the curse of the Elder Wand coming to reality? Would everyone want the Elder Wand like in the Tale of the Three Brothers? He could not think of Professor McGonagall being that type of person.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Boy!" exclaimed McGonagall impatiently. She was tapping an annoyed tattoo with her foot. "I have watched Dumbledore wield that wand for nearly forty years. Do you think that I am so bereft of magical learning that I would fail to realize that the wand itself was remarkable? If I had wanted the wand for myself, I could have tried to take it ages ago. I did not know it was the Elder Wand of legend, but there you have it."

"Why do you think it's the Elder Wand, Professor?"

"Potter, of course you must realize that you had a detailed discussion with Voldemort in front of hundreds of witnesses about the nature and characteristics of _that wand_ before you took it from him." She was looking at him like he was a blithering idiot.

"Right," said Harry. Why hadn't he realized that? How many had heard? They all must have heard!

"You do realize that witness accounts of your duel with Voldemort are already being splashed across the pages of the _Daily Prophet_? It is only a matter of time until someone mentions that you are now purported to be the master of the most powerful wand ever created." He felt her eyes examining him as he absorbed this information.

This was going to be trouble, he could tell. This was going to be loads of trouble.

"Where is the wand, Harry?" she asked again, holding out her hand expectantly. "I want to take it and store it in the Headmaster's Office until the events of the next few days run their course. I want to ensure its safety, and your safety."

"It's safe," said Harry defensively. "I wrapped it in my socks and hid it under my mattress." He realized how stupid he sounded as soon as the words left his mouth.

"While I am sure the repellant powers of your dirty socks are considerable, I think stowing it safely in the Headmaster's office is a better way to go for now." An uncharacteristically amused expression twitched across Professor McGonagall's face.

Harry felt defeated both by the soundness of her reasoning, and by the fact that he simply trusted Minerva McGonagall. She would not try to take the wand from him. She would not try to best him for it. She had asked for it. She did not want the wand for herself, but she wanted to protect him from those who would seek the wand by force. It took only a few seconds to retrieve the wand and unwrap it from its admittedly stinky protection.

"I was going to bury it with Dumbledore again," said Harry softly, handing Professor McGonagall the Elder Wand. He was not sorry to see it in somebody else's care.

"That is exactly what you shall do, Harry. But I do not think it wise to try it now. There will be many prying eyes here at Hogwarts for the next few days. Later you can take it there. I will come with you and help, if you will permit it."

The idea of Minerva McGonagall needing Harry's permission for anything filled him with a sense of wrongness. Overcome by a sudden urge, and knowing that he would never have the courage to try it again, Harry suddenly hugged his former Transfiguration teacher.

"Oh my," she said softly, and after a moment she hugged him back. When Harry released her, she wore a bemused expression. It was the kind of expression that would fit upon the face of a stern grandmother who had been momentarily taken aback by the innocent ebullience of a small child.

Yet she looked so tired, and Harry suddenly realized just how elderly the indomitable Minerva McGonagall really was. The events of the last few years must have started to take their toll on the poor woman.

"Well now," she said wryly, reaching up to pat his cheek. When she did so, he realized for the first time that he was a few inches taller than the elderly teacher. She had always seemed so imposing to him before!

"Uh...sorry, Professor…" said Harry with apologetic uncertainty.

"It has been quite a love-fest around here for the last day or so. I must admit that I think Dumbledore would have been pleased," said Professor McGonagall with a shrug. Then her normally severe expression returned in a trice and she suddenly stabbed her arm imperiously toward the general direction of the girl's dormitories. "But that does not mean that I ever want to see that _girl_ in your _bed_ under the roof of _my_ house again, Potter."

"Of course not, Professor," said Harry, fighting to keep his face properly repentant.

Professor McGonagall nodded curtly, and turned on her heel to leave the dormitory.

"Professor," Harry called after her. "What else do you and the Minister need to talk to me about?"

"Your education, Potter…and your future."


	5. Chapter 5

  
Harry found several things that had been laid out for him the day before by Kreacher, including a clean pair of socks, clean jeans, a tee shirt, and a set of finely pressed lightweight summer wizarding robes. He shook his head slightly, and chuckled. He should have realized. 

He quickly stripped out of the robes he was wearing and transfigured them back into pajamas. He then dressed in the robes that Kreacher had prepared for him. Harry did not want to hurt the elf's feelings in case he saw Harry wearing different clothes.

As Harry changed, he thought about what he must do this day. The light of the still sleeping sun was not in evidence outside of Harry's window. He would most likely be one of the first awake in the castle. He suspected many more people were sleeping off the exhaustion of the battle, and the gathering that followed.

He knew that there would be so much to do that day. He must fulfill his duties to the Weasleys and offer his condolences and support. He must check on Ron and Hermione, and get the news of the previous day from them. If time permitted and if the new temporary Minister of Magic made an appearance, perhaps he could speak to Kingsley Shacklebolt and discover what lay behind Professor McGonagall's cryptic remarks about his education and future.

The day ahead suddenly seemed like it would be long and arduous and he was not sure if he was ready to face it. Harry folded the pajamas neatly on the bed, stuffed his father's invisibility cloak in the pocket of his robes, and hung the mokeskin pouch around his neck. He then took a deep breath and looked around his lonely dormitory. With a sense of dread for the coming day, he strode to the door.

The common room actually contained several overnight guests. There were cots strewn haphazardly around the room to accommodate the family members of those Gryffindors who had stayed to fight. Harry thought he saw Seamus Finnegan's mother near the fireplace. On the other side of the room, Neville's grandmother slept regally in a rickety cot as if she was lounging in a suite at a five star hotel. Harry noticed that Neville slept in a cot next to her. With a stab of guilt, Harry suspected that his roommates had chosen to sleep in the common room rather than wake Harry from his recuperative slumber. It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but Harry saw no sign of the Weasleys among the sleeping families.

Harry made his way out the portrait hole and towards the entrance hall. As he descended the last set of the steps and looked around the great chamber, he was amazed┘simply amazed.

An army of house elves was still cleaning the place. It was obvious that there was much left to do, as the masonry and marble were still blown out in a few places, but much had been set to rights. The rubble, blood, and other detritus of conflict had been completely cleared away and those portions of the giant room that were still intact or that had been repaired shone dimly and pristinely in the guttering light of the torches. If Harry had not been there, he would not believe that a pitched battle had been fought among many hundreds of wizards and magical creatures in that place less than twenty-four hours previously.

The house elves parted as he walked through them, all work ceasing as he moved towards the castle doors and the grounds beyond. They looked up at him silently, almost reverently. Their huge orb-like eyes shone at him like many pairs of bright little flashlights. Several reached out a hand to touch him as he passed. They seemed to desire just a brush against the Boy Who Lived. They simply wanted to know that the young man who had twice vanquished Voldemort was indeed a real person, and alive and well at that.

As he gently pushed his way through the throng, he felt small packets being pushed into his hands, and smelled the scent of bacon and sweet breads. Harry looked around at their sharp little faces, and felt very uncomfortable with their adoration. He put what he hoped was a grateful smile on his face, but he walked as quickly as he could to the castle's main doors.

Harry did not even look towards the Great Hall. He feared what he might see.

Once he was out the front doors of the castle, Harry could hear the sound of the cleaning resuming behind him in the entrance hall. He did not know whom else he might meet on the grounds, and he decided that he could not handle any more adoration at the moment. He withdrew his invisibility cloak from his robes, and covered himself within its concealing anonymity.

He began to walk. Of their own accord, his feet took him down the path to the Quidditch Pitch that he had trod so many times over the years. He ate some of the food given to him by the House Elves as he went, stowing in his robes that which he did not eat.

Harry surveyed the dark grounds as he made his way. It was obvious that the House Elves had not yet begun their cleanup of the exterior of the school, and Harry was grateful that the night still clung to the school grounds like a concealing veil. The darkness was deepened by the unusual absence of the blazing windows that had always dotted the face of the castle. He did not want to see the full extent of the damage.

Even in the blackness, however, Harry could still see that rubble littered the grounds here and there along his path. In places the earth had been blasted up by spells, or perhaps gouged by giants. He looked up and saw a huge curved chunk missing from the astronomy tower high above him, starlight twinkling where solid rounded wall had been. It was as if some monstrous creature had taken a bite out of the venerable school. As his eyes drifted down the walls of the castle, he saw a giant hole blasted in its side. He averted his gaze, refusing to allow himself to recognize the place where Fred was killed.

From a distance in the darkness, the amorphous forms of the stands and the changing rooms on the Quidditch Pitch looked as they always had done. At first, it looked as if a Quidditch match could be started at first light. Yet when Harry drew closer, he saw the terrible damage.

A ring was toppled and others were simply gone. The stands had several holes blasted in them, and he could see now that one section was slumped towards the ground, dangerously unstable. The frame and roof of the changing rooms were undamaged, but the walls had collapsed inward and appeared to be partially melted. Harry shuddered to think that someone might have been sheltering there when that happened. Charred brooms, gloves, and other pieces of equipment were strewn madly about the destroyed structure.

Harry looked around the pitch, awestruck by the damage. After Voldemort's destruction, in the euphoria of a victory just attained, the tales of the battle had been bandied about like talismans of happiness. Yet they had failed to mention such awful scenes as that which confronted Harry in the pre-dawn stillness.

Harry dimly remembered overhearing during the celebration that Arthur Weasley and his charges had been in a sharp scrap with some Death Eaters in this area of the school grounds. Since they were so sturdily built, Harry could see that the stands would have made an excellent place through which to stage a fighting retreat. Arthur's roving group of Hogwarts defenders must have made a terrific fight here.

Harry began picking through the scattered refuse around the changing rooms. At first, the going was difficult because of the darkness. After several minutes, however, Harry noticed that he could see a little better. He looked up and saw the faint outline of the mountains surrounding the school. They stood like shadowed sentries against the lightening sky, their rearing silhouettes bearing witness to the fact that another day was coming.

After a few minutes Harry found a single broom that was only slightly damaged, its blackened tail testifying to its near destruction. He tucked it up under his arm as he gazed at the distant mountains for several moments. Bringing his eyes back to the ground in front of him, Harry knew that there was nothing else undamaged amongst the wreckage.

He had an impulse to stroll down by the lake, and had begun to move in that direction, but then his foot kicked a tiny round object. In the dimness, Harry watched a little golden ball bounce along the path ahead of him. Harry hurried forward and quickly found where the snitch had rolled. He bent to pick it up and inspected it in the half-light.

Harry could not remember a more pitiful sight. The little golden ball was encrusted with soot and seemed lifeless and broken. Yet as Harry looked closer, he saw a short, half-burned little golden wing waving slowly and pitifully on one side, and a tiny flickering stub on the other.

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat for the struggling little thing and he blinked rapidly. He could not say why it affected him so. Perhaps it was that the snitch had been made to buzz and whir and zoom free through the air until caught, remembering forever the hand that was its master. Now this poor thing would never fly free, and if it could remember anything, it would remember only fire and violence.

With a shudder, Harry looked back at the distant dim shape of Hogwarts, and thought of the young men and women who were maimed and killed defending it. Would those boys and girls, or their spirits, only remember Harry's beloved school as a place of pain and blood?

Harry forcefully pushed such thoughts from his mind as his shaking hands placed the little crippled snitch in the mokeskin bag around his neck. He continued down the path to the lake, knowing that he was not yet ready to face the horror that he had unleashed on his school, and the responsibility he felt for each and every one of the casualties in the battle.


	6. Chapter 6

As it began the first steps of its blazing journey across the firmament, the summer sun brought light to the world as Harry approached the lake. The lake was like a dark sheet of glass, reflecting the pinks and blues of the dawn sky. Harry made his way towards the venerable tree near the lake, beside which he, Ron and Hermione had spent so many springtime hours. 

As he approached, he saw two young men walking aimlessly along the shore, their distinctly red hair standing out in the dawn light. He sidled silently closer until he recognized Ron and Percy, and he could distantly hear what they thought was a private conversation.

"George is the worst of all, Ron," said Percy in a voice choked with emotion, but still somehow tinged with that characteristically fussy edge. He and Ron stopped walking and Percy looked over the still water of the lake, his arms hanging listlessly by his sides. "He hasn't said two words since it happened. He just sits there, looking so pale. I don't know if he'll recover from this. They were always so close."

Harry knew he was intruding, but he could not pull away. He had to know how the Weasleys, his favorite family in the world, were fairing. He suddenly felt guilty that he had not been there to help them the previous day, but had instead blissfully slept through the pain of the first day after Fred was killed.

"I know, Perce. I know," replied Ron in a worried voice. Ron looked like he had not slept in days. "We'll all just do what we have to do, won't we?"

Percy took off his glasses and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "I was such an idiot! If I had just come back a few days earlier..."

"I know, Perce," said Ron softly. "But you're here now, aren't you? That's what matters."

Percy shook his head, placing his glasses back on. "If I had just come back sooner, I could have let Fred know...I could have..." Percy's voice broke, and he looked down at the ground.

Ron reached over and threw a supporting arm around his older brother's shoulders. It suddenly struck Harry how much bigger - not just taller, but bigger - Ron was than Percy.

"You know, I saw you two just before it happened," said Ron, giving Percy a little shake. "You said something funny when you two were fighting those Death Eaters. Fred was laughing and happy. Really happy, Perce."

Percy sniffed and continued looking down at the ground. Ron turned Percy to face him, and placed both of his large hands bracingly on Percy's shoulder.

"Fred was happy because you were there, and you were fighting alongside us, and you were joking along with him."

Percy looked up at Ron earnestly, and Ron smiled an understanding brotherly smile.

"He was happy because you're back, Percy. That's what mattered to him. That's what matters to us," said Ron, his voice surprisingly steady as it carried through the dawn air. "Most importantly, that's what matters to Mum. She needs us all now, but she especially needs you. We all need you, don't we?"

Percy looked back at the ground and nodded. Ron again threw an arm around Percy's shoulders as the two continued their walk along the lake. Harry did not follow.

"Is she sleeping finally?" asked Percy.

"Mum? Think so. Dad's with her."

"Have you slept, Ron?" asked Percy, concerned.

"A little yesterday. I'll get some more when we get back to Hagrid's," answered Ron.

"It was exceptionally decent of Hagrid to let us use his cabin. Very decent, indeed," commented Percy, a bit of his pompous manner returning.

"Yeah," replied Ron with an ironic smile. "I always reckoned it was small, but without Hagrid and Fang in there, you could keep an army."

Percy smiled, and Ron withdrew his supporting arm. Any further conversation between the two was lost to Harry as they continued into the distance.


	7. Chapter 7

It had begun to get uncomfortable under the cloak in the growing heat of the burgeoning summer morning. Harry had taken it off, laid it on the ground, and was still sitting on it a few hours later.

Harry had watched the sun turn the lake from black glass to sparkling fire. He was thinking of everything and nothing as he watched the lake's shining surface. His thoughts flitted like a buzzing fly, and he did not let himself dwell too long on any particular thing. He did not know which way such musings would take him.

He did not know whether he would feel elated and triumphant for defeating Voldemort, or whether he would feel horrified and saddened for his lost friends. He also knew that whichever mental path he took, he would feel guilty for not taking the other. Therefore, he took neither and instead wrapped himself in protective numbness as he had so often wrapped himself in his father's cloak.

As the warm summer breeze brushed Harry's face, his stomach rumbled and he realized that he had barely eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. Harry withdrew the food given to him by the house elves and tried to eat a little more, but it seemed to turn sour on his tongue. He rewrapped the bacon and sweet bread and stuffed them back in his pocket.

He continued to watch the sunlight dance on the water, still hovering in that mental limbo that he had carved as a safe refuge for his swirling mind. Occasionally, Harry heard people bustling about the castle grounds behind him, or voices calling to each other in the distance. People around the school were waking, and beginning what would most likely be an eventful day. By now breakfast was being served and those that had fought the Battle of Hogwarts were probably beginning to wonder what was to happen next.

Yet Harry ignored the world around him for as long as he could and kept his eyes fixed on the water. He was trying to look as inconspicuous as possible so he could enjoy his benumbed solitude.

That's why he was so surprised when a small voice behind him asked, "Harry Potter?"

Harry jerked around, startled. His eyes having been dazzled by the sunlight shimmering on the lake, Harry had trouble focusing on the very small boy who had addressed him. Harry did not recognize the boy, and for a moment thought that he must be some young student's even younger sibling. But the boy wore extremely well kept school robes, which were perfectly cleaned and pressed despite the fact that there wouldn't be lessons any time soon. Harry decided that the boy must be a first year student.

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but his throat was dry after hours in the morning sun with nothing to drink, and only a rough grunt issued. The boy looked at him patiently while Harry struggled to speak. The boy did not smile or frown. The boy just watched.

"Yes?" squeaked Harry, clearing his throat and feeling a bit unnerved by the boy's imperturbable gaze.

"I've been given a message from Professor McGonagall," said the boy in a steady crisp voice. "She and the temporary Minister of Magic will see you right away in the Headmaster's Office. You will follow me." It was not a request.

"Uh…okay," said Harry, getting to his feet, and feeling surprised by how diminutive the boy was. He barely reached Harry's waist.

Harry picked up his invisibility cloak and folded it back into the pocket of his robes. He could feel the young boy's eyes watching him. Harry felt like he was standing on balance scales.

"Lead on," said Harry with what he hoped was a kind smile.

Without a word, but with an impressive swirl of his small robes, the boy turned and started walking briskly towards the castle.

"What's your name?" asked Harry in a friendly tone.

"Alexander Didact," said the boy matter-of-factly.

Alexander did not seem particularly friendly or conversational, but his manner was not particularly unfriendly or unapproachable either. Harry thought the boy might just be nervous, yet Alexander's stride was purposeful and unhurried and his voice was businesslike and steady.

After walking for several moments in silence, Harry said, "What year are you, Alexander?"

"I am completing my first year," said Alexander. "You next question will be to ask about my House. It is Ravenclaw."

This took Harry aback, but he did not dress Alexander down for rudeness. Harry couldn't have done, since Alexander had not sounded rude when he had said it. Alexander simply sounded as if he had anticipated Harry's question and had saved Harry the time and trouble of asking it, and himself the time and trouble of listening to it. Harry shook his head slightly, and decided to keep silent.

As they walked, Harry's thoughts turned to the coming meeting. He wondered what had caused Kingsley and Professor McGonagall to want to see him so quickly. Professor McGonagall had indicated that it could be weeks before Kingsley got an opportunity to talk to Harry. The fact that the presumed timetable had been accelerated gave Harry a sense of foreboding, and he had a feeling this meeting was going to be loads of trouble.

Thus, the apprehensive young man and the strange young boy continued in silence until they had gone through the front doors of the school, and made their way into the entrance hall.

"I trust you know where it is," said the boy. Once again, it was not a question. "I have also informed Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger of the summons, as well as the time and place. They had not wandered off alone, and were thus told a short while in advance."

There was no accusation or peevishness in Alexander's tone, despite the words. He was, once again, simply stating that which was true. To Harry, the boy's surgically blunt manner was not endearing.

"Yes, I can take it from here. Thanks, Alexander," said Harry, looking up as someone called his name from across the entrance hall. He waved to Angelina Johnson and Oliver Wood, who looked like they were making their way to the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry had a feeling there would be a lot of Quidditch discussed at that meal despite recent events.

"You do not…" began the boy, and then stopped, looking thoughtful.

Harry looked down at Alexander expectantly, but the boy just stared at Harry in a measuring way. Harry smiled encouragingly, but Alexander did not look as if he was afraid to speak. Alexander looked at Harry with the air of someone choosing his words carefully. Harry had the impression that the careful selection of words had nothing to do with politeness, but rather that Alexander wanted to be excruciatingly accurate in making his point.

"Yes?" prompted Harry.

"It is not logical for so many to suffer injury and die in order to protect one," said Alexander, sounding as if he were commenting about the weather.

"Wh…what!?" spluttered Harry, flabbergasted.

"Furthermore," said Alexander, not missing a beat, "Professor McGonagall instructed that I relate to you the password for the Headmaster's Office. It is 'transmogrify.'"

"What!?" said Harry again, even more surprised by the boy's change of subject.

Alexander studied Harry unabashedly for a few seconds. Then, with another swirl of small robes, the boy turned on his heel in a precise manner and strode towards the Great Hall. His small form quickly disappeared into the crowd gathering for breakfast.

Shaking his head, not knowing whether he was annoyed, indignant or remorseful, Harry made his way up the stairs towards the Headmaster's Office.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry managed to make the long trek to the hallway leading to the Headmaster's, or rather Headmistress', office without further mishap or interruption. As had been the case after the battle with Voldemort, the Gargoyle still stood broken in the entrance to the rising stairwell.

"Excuse me," said Harry apologetically as he scooted around the haphazard statue. The gargoyle wore an expression of stoic dignity as Harry made his way past.

The steps were broken and simply stood still in the wall, lacking their normal sinuous motion. The House Elves had obviously not made their way to this part of the castle yet. He looked up, and perceived for the first time the remarkable length of the stairs. He had not noticed it last night, but now he exhaled in preparation for the considerable climb.

Beginning his ascent, Harry heard voices on the landing above. He recognized the familiar sounds of Ron and Hermione bickering. He realized that they must be waiting outside of the heavy oak door to the office, above.

"…even if you don't care, I do, Ronald!" said Hermione in mid-lecture. "You cannot do everything. You need sleep."

"'M allright, Hermione! I'm just looking…out…" Ron's words were cut short by the sound of a jaw-popping yawn.

"See. I told, you. You have to sleep!" Hermione's voice had taken on a plaintive quality. "You've been up for over three days straight!"

"Slept this morning," said Ron in a petulant, but undeniably groggy voice.

"For a half an hour? Honestly!" said Hermione, exasperated.

"I'm allright!" repeated Ron, his voice rising in annoyance. "Somebody's got to watch out for everybody. Mum's out of it and Percy's a mess. Dad's got his hands full with Mum and trying to patch up the ministry, and he's not himself anyway. Bill and Charlie are trying to hunt down Death Eat…"

There was a scuffling clumsy sound above, as if someone had lost their balance.

"Ron…" said Hermione worriedly.

"Somebody's got to keep us together…or something like that…right." Ron's voice trailed off sleepily.

"And that's your job, is it?" asked a fierce, yet melodic, female voice above. Harry's foot stopped dead on the last step that would bring him onto the landing, and into view of the group above.

His heart skipped a beat. It was Ginny.

Her voice softened as it continued. "Hermione's right. You've been great. Really great. But you can't do everything."

"Exactly," agreed Hermione.

"I know," said Ron defensively. His voice held the closed-mouth strain of someone fighting to prevent another yawn from escaping. "It's just…"

"No more argument, Ron," said Hermione with gentle finality. "After McGonagall is finished with us, you are going to bed."

"Hmmm, okay then," said Ron, a teasing tone entering his weary voice. "Care to come along?"

"Well, if it will get you to sleep," responded Hermione in an uncharacteristically flirtatious way.

"Dunno 'bout that, but it would be fun any…" said Ron, chuckling.

"For heaven's sake!" interrupted Ginny grumpily. "I liked it better when you didn't hang all over each other when you rowed."

"Sorry, Ginny," said Hermione sheepishly.

"Yeah, sor…" Ron's repressed yawn burst out with renewed vigor. From the sound of it Harry was surprised that Ron's head did not come unhinged.

Harry stood still on the top of the staircase, contemplating going back the way he had come. He didn't know where this reticence came from, but he suddenly dreaded facing his reunion with Ginny, the meeting with McGonagall, and the newfound affection between Ron and Hermione all at the same time. The feeling of tiredness that had swept over him earlier was renewed, and he hesitated for several moments at the top of the steps.

"Hello, Harry," said a dreamy and embarrassingly loud voice behind him. "Why are you standing here?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his own skin. He spun around to see Luna coming up the stairs behind him, trailed by Dean Thomas.

"Hi, Harry," said Dean, looking cheerful.

Harry flattened himself against the wall of the stairway and stammered, "I wasn't…I just was…"

"Did Professor McGonagall tell you to wait here? Is anyone else coming? It's not very comfortable in the stairwell," continued Luna in that carrying voice, looking around the area where Harry was concealed from Ginny's eyes. She peered around the corner and exclaimed, "Oh! Hello, everyone!"

Harry tried to sink back into the wall behind him. He knew Luna pretty well, and he had a good feeling what she would say next. He was not disappointed.

"Ginny, Ronald and Hermione are waiting over there, Harry. Were you eavesdropping? Ohhhhh…are you standing here because you are nervous about seeing Ginny?"

Harry groaned while Dean sniggered. Dean pushed past, giving Harry a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Luna gave Harry an encouraging smile and exited the stairwell also. Harry followed reluctantly.

Luckily, the embarrassing incident was covered by the greetings among them. Hermione looked prim and pretty as ever. She kept casting worried glances at Ron, though, as if she meant to jump up and catch him should he tumble over. Ron looked like he might do so at any second. He had deep circles underneath his eyes, and he swayed slightly where he stood.

Harry watched Ginny greet Luna and Dean with distracted good cheer. She looked weary and sad, but she still had that blazing quality that no mere physical exhaustion or familial grief could remove. Her gaze turned to meet his.

"Hi, Harry," she said quietly, but her voice boomed in his ears like a clarion.

"Uh, hello," responded Harry. Then an awkward pause seemed to stretch among the six friends, as everyone except Luna tried to avoid looking at Harry or Ginny.

Luna looked around at all of them in turn. Harry braced himself as she said, in her horribly clueless manner, "Well, this is uncomfortable, isn't it?"

Ron guffawed and Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, which was a bad idea because he nearly toppled over sideways. Hermione actually had to reach over to stand him back up straight.

"It's silly to be so uncomfortable, Harry," continued Luna matter-of-factly, "because last year all that Ginny could talk about…"

"Luna," interrupted Dean as Ginny gasped. Her face flushed a brilliantly pretty crimson.

"What?" asked Luna with dreamy curiosity. "Oh! Am I doing it again?"

"Yes!" said Dean, trying to suppress a smile.

"Sorry," said Luna. Unperturbed, she began examining a torn tapestry on the adjacent wall, humming contentedly. Dean looked at her in bemusement, and then shook his head with a rueful smile.

"So what in the bloody blue blazes are we all here for anyway?" asked Ron impatiently. Harry guessed that Ron was looking to get back to his grieving family.

"Maybe she wants to ask us about the battle, or about Malfoy Manor," suggested Dean.

"I don't think so," said Ginny thoughtfully. "McGonagall was at the battle so she knows what happened there. And Kingsley took the Malfoys into custody yesterday afternoon. I suspect they've gotten all the information about Malfoy Manor they could want by this time. Bill said that Lucius Malfoy will be singing like a bird to keep from suffering for his involvement with Voldemort."

"I wonder why they need to talk to us _now_, though," grumped Ron.

"Have to, don't they?" said Dean. "The Memorial Service is tomorrow, and then there are the funerals…" He trailed off at the pained expressions on Ron's and Ginny's faces. "Sorry," he said quietly.

"No need to apologize, Dean," said Ron with a brightness that belied his haggard appearance. "We can't all walk on eggshells over it."

"What Memorial Service are you talking about?" asked Harry, realizing again that he had a day's worth of information to catch up on.

"They're doing a Memorial Service for the students and family members of students that were killed in the battle," said Hermione.

"It will be tomorrow morning, and they'll serve lunch afterwards. You'll sit with us and Mum and Dad, I'm sure," said Ron, his voice becoming Percy-like as he continued. His weariness had suddenly been replaced by an odd briskness and his voice did not carry the sleepy edge it had done just moments before. "It's closed to anyone except current students, professors and their families. They also have to arrange transport for all the families. My understanding is that they're going to use the Hogwarts Express."

Harry had only a moment to be touched by his best mate's off-hand inclusion of Harry within the circle of Weasley mourners. He marveled at how it was just expected to be so.

"Then there is Kingsley's speech," said Ginny.

"Sorry?" said Harry.

"Kingsley is giving a speech the afternoon after the Memorial Service," piped Ron. "He's acting Minister of Magic. He'll be doing the speech right from Hogwarts, to show that the school still stands and is safe. There will be loads of reporters for that, I reckon."

"And dad says that Kingsley is trying to get the Muggle Prime Minister to come for the speech," said Ginny. "You know, to show the attitude of the new administration and to show everyone that the Death Eaters and those who sympathize with them are definitely out of power for good."

"That should also help bring back the Muggleborns who went into hiding," said Hermione.

"That will be good," said Harry thoughtfully, liking Kingsley's effort in this regard. "But that still doesn't explain what McGonagall brought us up here for."

"Well, since it is the six of us who are here," said Hermione "I suspect that McGonagall partly wants to talk to us about our schooling."

"How ya reckon?" asked Ron.

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Of the students still here at the school today, the six of us missed the most of last term."

"Neville and Seamus and everyone in the Room of Requirement missed a bit too," observed Dean. "And what about the other Muggleborns?"

"True," said Hermione, "but the others in the Room of Requirement only missed, at most, a few weeks at the end of the term. They probably completed enough of their studies to stand for their N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. exams once things settle down and things can be scheduled like normal. As for the other Muggleborns that went into hiding, they're simply not here right now."

"McGonagall did say that she wanted to talk to me about my education," observed Harry. "But she indicated it might be awhile before we actually got a chance to meet about it. Weeks maybe, she said. I wonder what could have pushed it up. Plus, the Minister is meeting with us too, isn't he?"

"The Minister?" squeaked Hermione, and the other members of their group began to look anxious. This struck Harry as odd, especially since he, Ron, Ginny and Hermione had spent many a casual hour informally socializing with Kingsley Shacklebolt for the past three years.

"Well, that's what the boy who gave me the message said," confirmed Harry.

"He was a smarmy little git, wasn't he?" said Ron, visibly stifling another yawn. His burst of energy seemed to be ebbing.

"Well, it's unlikely that that they'd bring Kingsley here just to talk with us about finishing school," said Hermione uncertainly. "I must be wrong."

"Rarely, if ever" said Ron, taking Hermione's hand. Harry was surprised by the openly affectionate look that Hermione gave Ron for the compliment. It reminded him of the slavish look Fleur was prone to give Bill, though Hermione's was much less insipid. This interplay between Rona and Hermione was going to take some getting used to. Harry stole another glance at Ginny and thought that maybe he would read Ron's book about charming witches, because it sure seemed to work on Hermione.

"When did you talk to Professor McGonagall, Harry?" asked Luna distractedly. Once again, her voice startled Harry. He had forgotten she was there. She was still examining the tapestry, though she had ceased humming under her breath.

"Uh…" said Harry, stealing a look at Ginny. Her face was again crimson and she pointedly began to look anywhere but at Harry. "Well…"

Harry was saved the trial of proceeding any further in his explanation by the opening of the thick oak door to the Headmistress' Office. Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway, looking worn, but efficient.

"Ah, good. You're all here. Come in, please," she ordered. "Quickly now. Bill and the Minister are waiting. We have much to discuss."

The six students traded apprehensively glances, but quickly trooped through the entrance to their uncertain interview.


	9. Chapter 9

"Did he say, 'Bill?'" whispered Ron to Harry as they entered the Headmistress' Office. "I thought he had left to help hunt Death Eaters."

Harry shrugged in mute reply.

The study for the Head of School had undergone only a few changes since Harry had seen it the morning before, but those few changes were profound. Gone were the relics of dark magic that Snape had favored, and where Snape had been orderly but grim, McGonagall had made the work area near the Headmistress' desk brightly efficient. It again emphasized to Harry how different the room had become since the time of Dumbledore's residence, with his silvery jumble of magical disorder.

Upon thinking of the Headmaster, he looked up at his portrait, to find it empty. In fact, all of the portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses were empty, including Snape's small portrait by the door. This struck Harry as very strange, and added to his sense of foreboding.

McGonagall directed the six students to six padded straight-backed chairs set out for them. Ginny sat on the far left of the group of six, with Luna next to her, then Dean, Hermione, Ron and lastly Harry on the far right. Professor McGonagall took a seat in her own high-backed, ornate seat centered behind the desk. She was flanked by two other chairs, one of which was empty.

In the chair to Professor McGonagall's right sat the sturdy, imperturbable form of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He looked calm and reassuring in a smart gray pinstriped suit, his trademark earring catching the light coming through the tall windows. If what Professor McGonagall had told Harry was true, Kingsley had barely slept for two days, but he looked as fit and strong as ever. His warm smile for the six students did much to dispel the dread that had begun to build while they waited in the hallway.

Bill Weasley stood off to the side a bit, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He looked troubled and exhausted, as did all of the Weasleys these days, but he smiled encouragingly to the group as they took their seats. Luna gave him a little wave, and Bill nodded in return.

"How are all of you?" asked Kingsley in his stolid voice.

They all muttered varying versions of, "Fine."

"Ron, Ginny, how is your mother?" he asked, a note of deep sympathy emphasized by his baritone.

"As well as can be expected," said Ron guardedly.

"Thanks for asking," added Ginny politely.

"Luna, is your father recovering well?" asked the Minister.

"Oh no. He's not well," said Luna with a thoughtful frown. "I saw him at St. Mungo's last night and he is very worn down, I think. After I arrived, he got a bit overexcited. He was ranting that he may find the Fluidic Dirgbrat during his stay at the hospital. He seemed convinced that one of them is drinking the patients' milk?"

Kingsley just blinked at this information.

"And of course that's nonsense, Minister," continued Luna sadly with a small shake of her head, "because the Fluidic Dirgbat was driven to extinction by the Crumple Horned Snorcack. Daddy published an article about it himself three years ago. No, he is not doing well at all, I'm afraid."

From what Harry knew of Xeno Lovegood, Harry thought that Luna's father sounded like he was completely back to normal.

"Ah…yes. That is…too bad. Give him my best when you see him again. Last year, he was very brave to take the stand that he took in the Quibbler. Your capture was proof of the price of that courage," said Kingsley. He gave Harry a significant look.

"Thank you, Minister," said Luna, looking proud.

"Please, Luna. All of you…please call me 'Kingsley,'" he said in a kindly manner. "I think that given the informal nature of this gathering that you all can certainly use my name. I have sat down with most of you and your families as friends at one point or another, and I would not like my new position to damage those relationships."

All of the six young people murmured varying forms of agreement with this. At that point, the last of the tense anticipation of this interview left Harry's friends, particularly Hermione, who visibly relaxed from her rigid sitting position. Given her tendency to attach much significance to formal offices, rules and titles, this did not surprise Harry.

Yet something was still nagging the back of Harry's mind when he looked at the Minister. Harry sadly realized that Kingsley's new position made Harry distrust him. Over the years, Harry had been forced to learn that the near-heartless machinations of high officials often did not bode well for the little people caught under the heavy wheels of government. Harry flexed his hand, feeling the scars scrawled across the back of it. This lesson had been taught too well for Harry to trust the Ministry just because a friendly face sat atop it. That had been his mistake with Fudge.

Kingsley surveyed the six youths in front of him for another long moment, his eyes lingering on Harry for the briefest instant, then turned his head and nodded to Professor McGonagall.

"Well, now," began McGonagall, "let's begin. I am sorry to bring the six of you up here on such short notice, but we have some pressing matters that have erupted in the last few hours and we think that some of you have information that bears on those problems. Since the minister's time is precious, and since mine is not cheap either, we thought we would kill two birds with one stone, as it were. Therefore, we will discuss and do everything that we have pressing for all of you. We had meant to cover this at a later time, but there you have it. Any questions so far?"

The six students just looked at McGonagall blankly.

"Good. The first thing is your education. The Board of Governors has unanimously agreed to offer places to all students who missed this past term, including Muggleborns such as Hermione and Dean. They have also appointed me as temporary Headmistress until they can meet again in August, at which time they will either extend me in a temporary capacity for next year, or they will make a permanent choice…"

"Are they cracked? You'll be the permanent one too, right?" asked Ron, his tone illustrating how stupid he thought it would be to have anyone else as Head of School.

Professor McGonagall gazed at Ron sternly for the interruption, though she did seem pleased by his vote of confidence. "Well, my name is certainly among those being discussed, Mr. Weasley. If I am asked to serve as permanent Head of School, I will _consider_ the appointment to the office. As far as suits our purposes and until further notice, however, I am the Headmistress. Therefore, this summer it falls to me to sort out the students who missed last term."

Harry looked over and caught Hermione's eye. She raised her eyebrows slightly and then attentively faced back to Professor McGonagall.

"Now let's see. Where was I? Ah yes…" said Professor McGonagall, consulting a small sheaf of papers on her desk. "Harry, Hermione, Ron and Dean. You each missed the entire school term. If you are to return to Hogwarts, you will have to pick up where you left off from your Sixth Year. Ginny and Luna, you two are more difficult so we will discuss your situation first."

McGonagall cleared her throat and fixed her gaze alternately on Ginny and Luna. "I presume that you both will be returning to school, despite the fact that you will be free to choose otherwise since you will each be older than seventeen at the start of next term. Am I mistaken?"

"Ooo, I would like to, Professor" said Luna with a hearty nod, answering before Ginny. "But I will have to see about Daddy first."

"Please explain," said Professor McGonagall kindly.

"Well, Iwould _love_ to come back to school with my friends." At this Luna gave a dreamy smile as she looked down the line of young people seated to her right. When she continued, however, her voice was uncharacteristically grave. "Daddy is not well, though, and I won't leave him alone if he stays unwell. If he makes a full recovery, then I will be back in September. If not, I am sure that Daddy can teach me a lot of other useful things while I am gone."

An image sprung into Harry's mind of Luna and her father standing by a stream in rubber wading boots trying to catch Freshwater Plimpies. Despite his sudden urge to laugh, Harry was touched by Luna's statement. Her voice was heavy with the love she felt for her strange old father. Considering that Luna herself had been imprisoned in a basement for several long months, and must have suffered terribly as a result, her selfless concern for her father was admirable. Remembering Kingsley's words of moments before, Harry felt pity and forgiveness for Xeno Lovegood. It was hard not to forgive a man who had earned such devotion from a person as uniquely special as Luna.

"Your point is well made, Luna," said Professor McGonagall. The professor's voice held a hint of surprise that Luna could ever make a point at all, let alone do it well. "We will have to play it by ear, then. I am sure that Xeno will pull through fine and we'll see you in September. He is a tough fellow, your father."

"Oh, I hope you're right, Professor. I really do want to come back very much," said Luna earnestly.

Professor McGonagall nodded crisply, and then turned her eyes to Luna's left. "And you, Ginny? Can we expect you back in your rightful place as Gryffindor's star chaser?"

Harry smirked to himself. Harry suspected that Professor McGonagall might want some of them back just to increase Gryffindor's Quidditch chances for next year.

"I dunno, Professor," said Ginny softly.

Professor McGonagall's surprise was palpable. "What do you mean, Girl? Of course you will come back!"

"You're damn right she will!" said Ron sternly, immune to the withering stare Professor McGonagall directed at him for his language. "Mum will skin you alive if you don't."

"Ron," said Hermione with a cautioning tone.

"I'll be seventeen, and Mum and you and everyone else will live with the decision that _I_ make about it!" said Ginny fiercely, staring at Ron. Her eyes darted to Harry for a heartbeat and then she looked levelly at Professor McGonagall.

Harry glanced up at Bill. He was frowning thoughtfully at Ginny, but he kept his silence.

"But why, Dear?" said Professor McGonagall delicately, sounding disappointed and distraught at this unwelcome news.

"I don't want to talk about it now, Professor, but I have my reasons," said Ginny firmly.

Harry thought that Hogwarts without Ginny was just…wrong. Rashly, he began, "Ginny, if this is about me…"

"Honestly!" said Ginny furiously, her brown eyes blazing. "No offense, but don't flatter yourself, Harry! If I don't come back to school, and I have not yet decided whether I will or won't, but it will not have anything to do with you. I have my reasons, as I said, and that is that."

Harry felt his face flush at Ginny's rebuke and the disdainful tone that she had larded on top of it. He felt wounded by Ginny's words and angered by the thought of her failing to return to school. It was an inane sentiment, because at that moment, he did not know if he would return himself. Hogwarts had always been his first home, but suddenly Harry felt a sense of pointlessness in returning.

His feelings puzzled him, and the wash of emotions must have shown on his face. Everyone looked uncomfortable at the eruption between Harry and Ginny. Bill's, Kingsley's and Professor McGonagall's faces were so expressionless as to be almost comical. Dean looked sheepish and gave Harry another sympathetic look. Luna was gazing out the window again, apparently interested in a bird on the windowsill.

Ron moved as if to protest further, but his half-open mouth was quickly commandeered by another massive yawn, which forestalled any further complaints from him momentarily. His eyes brimmed with frustration at being unable to enunciate his thoughts to his unreasonable baby sister. Hermione laid a restraining hand on Ron's as she watched Ginny closely.

"Oh, shut it, Ron!" said Ginny shortly as she looked at her brothers. "You both need to realize that I am not your baby sister anymore. I will do things the way that I think is best."

Professor McGonagall looked almost beside herself. A pleading note entered her voice. "You have so much promise, Ginny. I don't want to see it wasted. If you complete your N.E.W.T. studies, it will give you..."

"Professor, I said that I don't want to talk about it now. Please!" Ginny's angry countenance began to break slightly, and Harry was startled to see her eyes shining with angry tears despite her fierce words. "I would like to bury my brother, alright? I'd like to sleep for one night without dreaming about the girl who died in my arms crying for her mother. After that, I can make the big decisions about whether I want to come back to this…this _place_."

"Well, there," said Kingsley, his deep calming voice settling over them in mediating tones. "So you just need time to figure out what you want to do. That sounds reasonable, doesn't it, Minerva? It is not unexpected that someone might need time to figure out where their heart lies after the mess we've been through."

"Well…" began Professor McGonagall, composing herself. "That sounds right. Yes."

"So there you have it," said Hermione calmly, mimicking Kingsley's tone. Harry noticed that her knuckles were white. She was gripping Ron's hand with everything she could muster, and he kept silent. "Ginny, why don't we just get all the information about coming back, _in case_ everyone decides to come back, and then that may even help you to make your decision."

Ginny nodded and McGonagall cleared her throat. The Professor's imperiously efficient manner returned as she shuffled her papers. Harry looked at Ginny and noticed her wipe her eye with the back of her hand. His hurt feelings of moments before were forgotten, and he had a nearly overwhelming desire to hold her tightly. If Ginny showed tears, then she was very upset indeed.

"Well then, on to the rest of you. Dean, what are your plans?"

"I'll definitely come back, Professor. My mum will be after me to get back," said Dean.

"Oh, good," said Luna, smiling.

Dean gave her a return smile. "Well, education is really important to Muggles, you know?"

"It's pretty important to wizards, too, I dare say," said McGonagall emphatically, looking at Dean over the edge of her spectacles. "What say you, Hermione?"

"If at all possible, yes," said Hermione. At McGonagall's questioning look, Hermione continued. "I have some things to sort out first, Professor. With my parents, I mean. They have gone into hiding and I will have to go get them. But I should be able to do that in a few weeks over the summer unless they have gotten themselves lost."

"We'll help you find them, Hermione. Won't we, Harry?" volunteered Ron.

"Yes," said Harry, glancing at Ginny. "Of course."

Hermione blushed at the offered help. "Thank you," she said quietly as if she had not expected it.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, shaking his head slightly as if to keep himself alert. "I figure I should get to know your parents anyway. I've only seen them at Diagon Alley or when they drop you off at the Burrow. Might be fun to see how they tick. I could bring back loads of stuff to tell Dad."

"Yeah," said Harry, smiling at Hermione. "It's not like you haven't spent the last year following me all over Britain. I figure I can at least follow you to Australia for a couple of weeks. Better weather, anyway."

"I won't be seventeen until the end of summer, but if Mum and Dad will let me go, I would come too, Hermione. If you'll have me that is," said Ginny. A brief happy image of Ginny in a bikini on an Australian beach flashed through Harry's head. He managed to keep his expression neutral.

"Oh, Ginny! Thank you. Of course I would love if you would come," said Hermione looking nearly tearful. "It will be like a holiday. Dean and Luna, you are welcome to come too, if circumstances allow."

"That might be nice," said Luna noncommittally, "but it will depend on Daddy."

Dean simply nodded, also noncommittal.

"And count me in for school too, Professor, provided we find Hermione's parents in time," said Ron, sounding brighter by the prospect of the trip ahead. He looked over at Harry expectantly.

Harry kept his face impassive, and Ron's grin faded when Harry did not immediately agree.

"Very well," said McGonagall, pleased by the avalanche of positive responses. She glanced at Ginny. "And I think the trip to Australia is a good idea, as well. It might be a tonic after the recent events. I will speak to Molly, Ginny."

Ginny nodded her thanks to Professor McGonagall. Harry looked at Kingsley and saw a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. Harry had the feeling that Kingsley was marveling at the recuperative enthusiasm of young people.

"And I expect you'll be back, as well, Harry?" asked Professor McGonagall. Her tone indicated that she considered it a foregone conclusion. Suddenly all eyes in the room were focused on Harry, and he felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny. This was going to be difficult.

"I…I don't think so, Professor," said Harry softly.

"What?!" Professor McGonagall and Ron exclaimed together. Looks of surprise painted the faces of Harry's friends in the room, and Ron looked a bit angry.

"I don't think so," said Harry more firmly, looking Professor McGonagall in the eye.

"Are you bleeding mad, Harry?" asked Ron.

"For heaven's sake, Ron…" said Hermione.

"And when were you going to tell us this bit of news?" said Ron angrily. "I mean being that we're your best mates and all."

"I didn't realize it until we got in here and started talking about it," said Harry defensively.

"Good to know you've taken so much time to ponder such a big decision about your education," said Ron sarcastically. Harry wondered if Ron realized how much he sounded like his mother.

"Ron, please," said Hermione. "Can you tell us why, Harry?"

Harry looked at his two best friends. Hermione was being diplomatic, but Harry could hear the hurt tone in her voice. She would have expected Harry to confide his feelings in her and Ron. How could he explain to them the sadness he had felt while walking the school grounds? How could he explain to them his feeling that his old home would never be the same, at least not for him?

"It's hard to explain, Hermione," said Harry, shaking his head.

"Please try?" asked Hermione softly.

Harry took a deep breath. "I…I am not sure…it's strange. I feel…I feel like I need to be somewhere else. I feel like I need to _do _something else."

Ron snorted, and Hermione's knuckles went white on his hand again.

"What do you mean?" asked Kingsley, studying Harry over his fingertips much like Dumbledore had been prone to do.

"Oh, I think I understand," said Luna.

"What?" asked Harry and Dean. All eyes in the room swiveled to Luna.

"Well, you have been waiting to fight Voldemort for years, haven't you? Maybe your whole life?" said Luna with an airy smile. "You were prepared for that battle here and with your friends and teachers here. The battle was very costly, and that makes you sad…sad to be here, doesn't it?"

To his own surprise, Harry said, "Yes, that's right."

"But most of all," finished Luna with a very understanding nod, "the battle is won, and well…you don't need Hogwarts anymore. It's time to do something else, like you said."

All eyes in the room swiveled back to Harry. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. He simply nodded. Luna had said it more clearly than he ever could have. Harry looked up at Professor McGonagall and expected to hear a protest similar to what she had said with Ginny. Instead, she just nodded her head slightly. Harry glanced at Ron. Luna's insight had apparently mollified Ron's anger somewhat, and he bore a thoughtful expression.

At this the minister cleared his throat. Harry looked up at him.

"Harry," began the Minister, extending a large hand flat on the desk towards Harry, "I would ask you to defer your decision until Professor McGonagall, Bill and I have had an opportunity to talk to you in private about some other matters that have arisen in the last few hours. I think that these new developments will bear on your decision. Can you agree to that?"

"Sure, Kingsley," said Harry.

Kingsley nodded, satisfied.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall. "Let me go through the details then, as Hermione suggested. Let's see…

"Luna, I'm afraid you missed half of last term. Therefore, you have two options. One would be to take private lessons in July from me and some others who have volunteered to get students in your situation up to speed. It would be very intensive and a heavy daily time commitment, but if you are successful, then you could begin your seventh year with the rest of your class. Unfortunately, since you missed so much of the last term, we cannot try to condense your studies for the past half year with next year, and you must utilize the summer study program. Your only other option would be to repeat your Sixth Year.

"Ginny, you missed classes since the Easter Holidays. While this is less than Luna missed, it is unfortunately too much to allow you to move on to Seventh Year without some additional allowance made to catch you up on your studies. You have three options. If you decide to take the same condensed study option that I have offered Luna, it would also be in July, though less intensive, perhaps, than what Luna will face.

"While the decision is yours to make, Girls, we are nearly into June. Therefore, if you wish to take advantage of this condensed summer study opportunity, I will need your decisions within the next two weeks."

Professor McGonagall looked at Ginny and Luna seriously, though not unkindly, over her spectacles. They nodded there understanding of the parameters.

"Now, Ginny, you have an option in addition to that which I have offered to Luna," continued McGonagall, "Since you missed a shorter amount of time this last term, and in light of the time you need to contemplate your decision, this option may work best for you. If you do not take the opportunity over the summer, then we can still advance you to Seventh Year. However, it will be necessary for you to take several remedial classes, and the work load will be quite heavy during next term. This is especially true since you will be entering your N.E.W.T. year."

Ginny again nodded her understanding.

"As for the rest of you, as I said, if you come back, there is nothing for it but to begin your Seventh year from scratch. It is unfortunate that you will not be able to advance with your classmates, but it would be foolish to think that you could pass an N.E.W.T. exam after being away from school for a year. Does anyone have any questions?"

Harry and the others, particularly Luna and Ginny, looked dazed by the flood of information that they had just heard recited so quickly. Despite the shock, Hermione raised her hand to ask a question.

"For Merlin's sake, Girl! We are not in class. Just ask," said McGonagall impatiently.

"Right. Sorry. What about the other students from the Room of Requirement, Professor? What will they do for N.E.W.T.'s?" asked Hermione.

"That is a good question. The best answer that I can give is that N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. exams will most likely be scheduled for some point over the summer, as they were last year, or perhaps the beginning of the fall. This will give those students adequate time to catch up on what little they missed. Muggleborns and students who were not in school last year will be in the same boat as you, Dean, Ron and Harry."

Professor McGonagall then peered at each of them in turn. "Are there any other questions?"

The young people all shook their heads to varying degrees.

"Good. Except for Mr. Thomas, we shall await the outcome of events in the coming weeks," said Professor McGonagall.

"At this point," said Kingsley with a broad smile, "I would like to thank you again, Ginny, Dean and Luna, for coming on such short notice under such circumstances. At this point you may go, since our remaining business is with your friends."

"Bill, would you also check to see if our final guests have arrived?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Certainly, Minerva," said Bill.

Luna and Dean mumbled their goodbyes to their friends with sympathetic looks and encouraging smiles as they trooped towards the door. Bill walked them out, mumbling some quiet words to Ginny as they went. She nodded to whatever he had said. Harry tried to catch her eye, but she did not look his way.

As the door to the study opened, Harry heard Luna say happily, "Hi, Neville!" There was a flurry of brief greetings in the hallway outside the study.

Moments later, Neville came into the study looking harassed. He was followed by a tall, slender, imperious looking man in flowing robes of such a deep purple that they were almost black. He swirled into the room impressively without a word of greeting to anyone, but with courteous nods to Professor McGonagall and Kingsley. He took the seat next to Professor McGonagall which had hitherto been unoccupied. Bill brought up the rear with a thinly veiled expression of distaste.

Neville mumbled hellos to Harry, Ron and Hermione as he took one of the seats abandoned by the three departed students. He then watched the newcomer with a look similar to Bill's.

Harry exchanged looks with Hermione at this new mystery. Ron's interest appeared to be vying with his tiredness. He looked like someone startled out of their sleep, and the dark circles under his eyes had gotten deeper during the interview.

Harry met the eye of the unknown wizard seated across the table, and was affronted by the clearly studious and intrusive way that the man gazed at Harry.

"Harry, Ron and Hermione," began Kingsley, "please allow me to introduce to you the Head of the Ancient Artifacts Office of the Department of Mysteries. This…is Trimble Didact."


	10. Chapter 10

"Didact?" asked Harry to the newcomer. 'Then that boy, the one who came to get us…Alexander…he is your son?"

"My nephew," said Trimble Didact.

"Ah, I see," said Harry. That would explain Alexander's presence at the school when all of the other First Years had been evacuated and would not return until the memorial service, if then.

"Neville," began Kingsley, "I am sorry to have kept you waiting since our earlier discussion this morning. Thank you for returning so promptly. I trust you had a good lunch?"

Harry's curiosity was peaked. Neville had met with Kingsley that morning?

"Yes, Minister. Thank you."

"I trust you met Mr. Didact in the hallway?" asked Kingsley.

"Yes, Minister," said Neville flatly. "We introduced ourselves."

"Good, good," said Kingsley pleasantly. "And please call me Kingsley."

Neville nodded.

"Well, now that Bill has returned," continued Kingsley, addressing Neville but nodding to the eldest Weasley brother, who was still leaning against the wall unobtrusively, "and now that Mr. Didact is present, we can finish our discussions with the aid of Harry, Ron and Hermione."

Trimble Didact sighed heavily, and wore the expression of an exasperated parent as he watched Kingsley. Harry got the distinct impression that the man found Kingsley's collegial manner distasteful.

The Minister took a moment to look at each of them in turn, as he perfunctorily arranged some pages of parchment in front of him. Kingsley did not seem to have noticed Didact's condescending exhalation. Harry suspected that there was some tension between the two men.

Kingsley began to speak as if his remarks were prepared:

"Well," said the Minister, "as I have said to each of you at some point this morning, we have additional business to discuss. Some of this additional business is in Mr. Didact's area of expertise. I have asked him here to seek some information on some magical artifacts that Hermione brought to my attention. I believe they were certain artifacts of the Founders, some of which Voldemort used as magical devices called Horcruxes."

Harry inhaled sharply and snapped his head around to glare at Hermione. She looked anxious and glanced furtively at Trimble Didact as her mouth opened but no words issued.

"You may feel free to discuss this topic in front of Mr. Didact, Hermione," said Kingsley.

Hermione closed her mouth and composed herself. Then she addressed Harry.

"I didn't think it would matter to tell them, Harry," she said contritely, looking to Ron for support. "It didn't really break our promise to Dumbledore. I thought it might be important for Kingsley and Professor McGonagall and the rest of the Order to have the information."

"It was _my_ promise to Dumbledore," said Harry, not sure whether to be angry or not, but scowling just the same. "I wish you had talked about it with me first."

"Couldn't have done, Mate" said Ron, also looking a bit sheepish. "It came up while you were sacked out."

"And we needed to tell someone, because we weren't sure whether the Horcruxes might still be dangerous, even though they are destroyed," explained Hermione anxiously. "We wanted to talk about it with you, Harry. We really did. But after what you had been through, we thought it was important that you rest."

Hermione's earnest expression softened Harry's unfermented anger.

"Besides," finished Ron, "you mentioned them in front of everyone when you were dueling You Know Who. So really, you told the secret first."

"You're…right," said Harry slowly. He softened his expression, and gave his friends a small smile. "It's alright. I can't believe that Dumbledore would want me to keep the secret forever."

Hermione relaxed visibly and Ron smiled back, crinkling the deep dark circles under his eyes. He truly looked exhausted.

"You mentioned the Deathstick during that duel as well," said Didact. The smiles vanished from Harry's and Ron's faces as they looked back at Didact. He was watching Harry.

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione in a small voice.

"The Elder Wand?" asked Didact softly, watching Harry's reaction with that immutable gaze.

"Oh yes," said Kingsley with a disparaging smile. "Well there is that tripe too."

Kingsley turned to Harry and his friends as if explaining something mildly embarrassing.

"There have been rumors circulating that a special wand was involved in your duel with Voldemort, Harry. Mr. Didact is interested in those rumors also." Kingsley laughed again as if it was ridiculous, but he caught and held Harry's eye warningly for a moment.

Kingsley knew. He knew, and he wanted Harry to be careful.

"Not just a special wand, Temporary Minister," said Didact. He scrutinized Hermione and Ron in turn as he spoke. "The Wand of Destiny."

"Oh, is that all," said Bill in amusement as he shifted his stance against the wall.

"May I begin my examination?" asked Didact with the air of a Healer preparing to stick a large and painful probe into an unfortunate patient. He still had not pulled his eyes from Harry and his friends.

"By all means, Trimble," said Kingsley, leaning back in his chair as if relaxing into a chat by the fireside.

"Actually, Temporary Minister, my question was for the Interim Headmistress. Being that this school is her jurisdiction, at least for the time being, it is proper that she give her consent to an examination of her students," explained Didact. His tone was not rude, but it seemed to suggest that Kingsley should have known the object of the request.

It was hard not to mistake the crispness and exactness of Didact's speech. Alexander had obviously picked up his uncle's particular and exact manner of expression. While the boy was not discourteous, he had been woefully direct to the point of impertinence.

With Trimble Didact, however, this mannerism that had seemed irritating in the little boy was rather intimidating in the Uncle.

"Ah yes," said Kingsley with an amiably rueful laugh. "I forgot you were an Auror for a time and that you spent time in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as well. I should have known you would meticulously observe the proper protocols."

Kingsley gave Harry another lingering glance. It was a warning to Harry about the interrogation to come.

"Quite," said Didact succinctly. "Interim Headmistress, may I proceed?"

"If Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville have no objection, then neither do I," said Professor McGonagall. She caught and held Harry's gaze as well; another warning.

Harry had very large objections, actually, but saw no way to express them without seeming suspicious. He and his friends just nodded their readiness.

At first the "examination" seemed innocuous. The questions focused alternatively on Tom Riddle's Diary, Hufflepuff's cup, the serpent Nagini, the Diadem of Ravenclaw, and then Slytherin's Locket. The questions were pointed and pertinent, but never rude or pressuring. After a while, Harry found himself getting used to Didact's mannerisms, and beginning to feel that he was engaged in an informative discussion, as opposed to an interrogation. Ron actually began to look a bit bored, and his eyes drooped alarmingly as the stimulus of the conversation waned.

In truth, Didact was not asking about anything that Harry was uncomfortable revealing, so Harry tried to be as forthright and complete in his answers as possible. After all, Hermione had made a good point when she said that much of this information was already disclosed. Harry did not feel that there was any reason to keep from Didact some general information concerning their experiences with the effects of the Horcruxes over the past year, though he did leave out some of the more personal bits and pieces.

But every now and again, while Didact was questioning Ron or Hermione on some finer detail, Harry would look up to see McGonagall looking at him levelly, or Kingsley staring pointedly, or Bill looking worried. Then Harry's guard would go back up.

In a roundabout manner, Kingsley had warned Harry that Didact was an experienced interrogator. Harry started to feel that this easy faze of the questioning, despite the fact that it lasted more than an hour, was merely to soften the students up for the kill.

Neville largely sat to the side and repeatedly gasped as the revelations came from the Trio. He did not know the details of the Horcruxes, or that Nagini had been a Horcrux. He seemed amazed at the breadth of his own accomplishment in killing the snake, once he knew its full import.

Eventually the questioning moved to the sword of Gryffindor, and Didact's scrutinizing gaze focused almost exclusively on Neville. Neville was flustered by the questions, but they were a bit perfunctory. After Didact had spent five or ten minutes making Neville look more and more uncomfortable, Professor McGonagall interrupted.

"Honestly, Trimble," said the Headmistress, "is this necessary? The Sword of Gryffindor has been studied for centuries. Its propensity to present itself to any Gryffindor in valorous need is well known, especially among your lot at the Department of Mysteries."

"That is true, Interim Headmistress," said Didact, unruffled. "Quite true, but it is important that these circumstances be examined, especially in light of last night's…_activity_…among the Goblins." Didact shifted his gaze from Neville to Harry.

"What happened with the Goblins?" asked Harry, not liking the tone that Didact used.

"Ahhh, Mr. Didact," said Kingsley, acting as if Harry had not spoken "That, however, does not concern your department. That is for the Goblin Liaison Office…and my office if it gets more serious. Please move on."

Didact nodded in acknowledgment. Again, he did not seem angered or indignant at his questioning being diverted. Harry felt sure that Didact took the change in topic so easily because Kingsley had been correct. It was not Didact's department, and therefore it was proper to leave off the questioning. To do otherwise would be a waste of proper administrative delegation.

That was when it struck Harry that at no time during this interrogation had Didact actually seemed interested in the information he was acquiring. That is, Didact did not seem to feel any emotion about the Horcruxes or what their destruction meant. Like an automaton, Didact had dutifully questioned Harry and his friends thoroughly, if not painfully. But Didact did not seem to _personally_ care one way or the other.

Harry began to dislike Didact very much.

At this point, Didact reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a folder containing a large number of pages and memoranda on parchment. Harry noticed that his own name was emblazoned on the front of the dossier.

"Now, Mr. Potter," said Didact, ruffling through the parchment until he came to the page he was looking for, "it appears there was one more Horcrux. Is that correct?"

Didact looked Harry in the eye very pointedly. Harry began to feel uncomfortable under the questioning for the first time.

"Yes," replied Harry cautiously.

"What was that Horcrux?" asked Didact, still looking Harry in the eye. Harry returned the gaze, but he started to hear a slight buzz in his head, like his ears were ringing.

"It was a signet ring," responded Harry.

"It belonged to the Gaunt family, who were related to Voldemort on his mother's side," volunteered Hermione, sounding for all the world like she was answering a professor's query in class.

"I did not ask you the question, Ms. Granger," said Didact softly, his gaze never wavering from Harry's eyes. "Mr. Potter?"

The buzz in Harry's ears increased and he got a very slight queasy feeling in his stomach. There was something unpleasantly familiar with this sensation, but Harry gave no outward sign that he was affected.

"What Hermione said," answered Harry. "She has it right."

Harry heard Ron shift in his chair. Despite his exhaustion, Ron had apparently picked up on the increased tension in the situation. McGonagall, Bill and Kingsley were stock still, their faces like stone.

"Was there anything else unusual about this ring?" asked Didact emotionlessly. The buzzing increased again and Harry had a sudden image in his mind of Snape standing before Harry. An image of Snape casting a spell that Harry had never managed to deflect, and invading Harry's mind at will.

"_Legillimency," _thought Harry, feeling momentarily panicked. _"He is using Legillimency on me now."_

"It…it had a curse on it," said Harry. "It made Dumbledore sick…it would have killed him eventually if Snape hadn't done."

"I see…" said Didact distractedly, but then he struck like a snake. "Isn't that why mastery of the Deathstick did not pass to Severus Snape upon Dumbledore's death?"

The buzzing in Harry's ears sounded like a high wind. Harry felt lost. He had never successfully resisted this spell before. Any second, Harry was sure that he would feel Didact invading his mind. He felt certain that Didact's robotic intellect would parse through Harry's memories and discard all that did not suit his mission, and mechanically extract those that would be damning.

Harry braced himself and attempted to screen Didact from his mind as Snape had tried to teach him. Harry still had no idea how to do it as Snape had taught, but decided that it must be similar to what he had done to push Voldemort's thoughts from his mind. Harry tentatively tried a bit of the mental shoving he had used in those moments when Voldemort had seemed to possess him. To Harry's elated surprise, the buzzing in his ears dropped to muted whispers in the distance.

Pushing Didact away had been startlingly easy.

"Sorry? I don't really know what you are talking about," said Harry. "I thought we were talking about Horcruxes."

For the first time, Didact looked nonplussed. He looked down hesitantly at the parchment in his folder, then back up at Harry. Didact quickly recovered his detached air.

"We are now talking about wands," said Didact coolly. He scrutinized Harry again, and the muted whisper became a quiet buzz again. "Are you familiar with wandlore at all, Mr. Potter?"

"A little bit," answered Harry honestly. The buzzing ratcheted up slightly.

"Are you aware that wands can change owners if they are forcibly taken from a witch or wizard?" asked Didact. His gaze was fixed on Harry like an intense beam of light. The buzzing began to become annoying again.

"I have heard of that," replied Harry flatly.

"Are you aware that there is a school of thought among wand makers which holds that a wand may switch ownership very easily if it has already switched ownership many times before?" asked Didact.

"No, I've never heard of that," replied Harry honestly. This was a theory that Olivander had failed to mention, if he had known of it.

Yet it made sense. When dueling Voldemort, Harry had thought, or rather hoped, this to be true. By blind luck or instinct, Harry had bet his life on the idea that the Elder Wand would have switched its allegiance to Harry simply by virtue of Harry having disarmed its master of a _different_ wand. Harry now felt sure that this must be an unusual characteristic of the Elder Wand.

The buzzing seemed to be overcoming Harry's initial tentative shove, and was getting decidedly uncomfortable again.

"I have very solid and corroborated information, Mr. Potter. This information indicates that Voldemort referred to his wand as the Deathstick during his duel with you. The Deathstick – also called the Wand of Destiny and the Elder Wand - is an extremely powerful weapon that has caused much death and violence over the centuries. It belongs in the safekeeping of the Ministry. Were you aware of that Mr. Potter?"

"Was I aware of which part?" answered Harry evasively.

Didact's eyes narrowed a bit and the buzzing grew yet more intense. Harry noticed a trickle of sweat on Didact's forehead. He was trying very hard, indeed.

"In fact, the Deathstick is purported to be unbeatable in a direct duel, Mr. Potter. You disarmed Voldemort during your duel with him. I have very reliable information that you took Voldemort's wand in that duel."

Didact stared at Harry. The buzzing in Harry's ears began to feel like the scrabble of cold hands on the surface of Harry's mind. The sensation repulsed Harry. The thought of Didact piercing his mind no longer made Harry fearful. It made him angry.

"Would you care to explain any of that, Mr. Potter?" asked Didact.

"I couldn't begin to explain," replied Harry in cold fury.

Didact simply plunged along.

"And then of course there is the last Horcrux…the ring from the Gaunt family. That is an interesting treasure, is it not? Quite unique."

Harry simply shrugged in reply.

"Have you ever heard of the Deathly Hallows?" asked Didact, staring into Harry's eyes with rapt intensity. For the briefest instant Didact showed his first flash of emotion. A look of pure avarice overspread Didact's sweaty face and a hungry tone entered his voice.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the question as Didact's eyes filled Harry's vision. Harry felt Didact's Legillimens spell battering unrestrainedly into his mind. Rage swelled in Harry at the thought of this horrible man parsing through his thoughts. The idea of yet another Ministry official attempting to force from him that which he was unwilling to give, and about which he felt a right to withhold, infuriated Harry. As Didact attempted to push into Harry's mind, Harry pushed back with all of the force that he had learned through months of wrestling with Voldemort's invasive thoughts.

It was like swatting a fly with an automobile.

Harry deflected Didact's spell back to its caster with the force of a hammer striking a gong. For an instant Didact's face went blank and he sat up straight with a quiver. He then slumped to the side and fell out of his chair.

Harry had finally learned Occlumency.

After several moments, the Head of the Department of Mysteries awoke. He was helped back into his chair by McGonagall and Kingsley. Both of them were very concerned for Didact because they could not tell that Harry and Didact had been silently locked in a mental duel. The two of them shot warning glances at Harry, but Bill was hiding a smile behind his hands. Didact looked grey as he reviewed the parchment in his folder and then looked at Harry again.

"It seems," said Didact, "that I have some very out of date information concerning your skills, Mr. Potter."

"Yeah," replied Harry insolently. "I'm full of new tricks."

"What are you hiding, Boy?" asked Didact angrily, his meticulous manner slipping from him as color returned to his cheeks.

"Trimble…" began Kingsley soothingly, looking worried.

"Well, I don't think it's a matter of hiding anything," interjected Hermione sharply.

"What, Girl?" snapped Didact, looking at her.

"Well, look at what you asked!" said Hermione angrily. "You just asked Harry if he disarmed the most powerful dark wizard of all time, who was supposedly armed with some sort of…some sort of…super-powerful wand. It's ridiculous to think Harry could have done that."

Harry was impressed with Hermione's ability to act as if she had never heard of the Elder Wand before.

"Yeah! And what in the hell are the Deadly Hedgerows? Does that have something to do with wands?" asked Ron indignantly.

Ron managed a passable imitation of Olivander's bewilderment when all those weeks ago Harry had asked Olivander about the Deathly Hallows.

Neville looked dumbstruck as his head swiveled to look at each person with a complete lack of comprehension.

Didact ignored Ron and replied to Hermione instead, acting as if he was speaking to an imbecile, "I did not ask him that, Ms. Granger. I know that it did happen. I asked him to explain _how_ it happened."

"Well your question presumes an impossibility," replied Hermione angrily. "Therefore it is an illogical question. From those circumstances, the only likely conclusion is that Voldemort did _not_ have a super-powerful wand."

"It is not an illogical question, Silly Girl, if the Deathstick had not switched ownership to Voldemort," hissed Didact.

Hermione seemed to have hit a nerve with Didact, and he harrumphed as he realized he had revealed too much of his thoughts on the subject. He visibly tried to resume a calm demeanor.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," said Harry, still feeling rage boil within him. "I don't answer questions for those who try to force answers from me."

"Harry, Mr. Didact is here at my invit…" said Kingsley.

"No, Minister!" interrupted Harry with finality. "He just tried to use Legillimency on me. He tried to take without asking, and I just taught him a lesson for it. I am finished with this."

"You think I don't have the right to take answers from you, Boy?" asked Didact. He tried to weight his voice with cold calculation, but the color in his cheeks destroyed the previously intimidating effect.

"No, I think that you are_ not able_ to _take_ answers from me, Didact," replied Harry with a touch of smug disdain. "Because, to be quite honest, knocking you out of my mind wasn't even very hard."

"Didact," said the Minister angrily, "I invited you here to _interview_ these students, not to cast Legillimency on them. This was not supposed to be an interrogation. You have violated the protocol that we discussed."

"And I certainly will not authorize such treatment of my students," fumed Professor McGonagall.

Didact's mouth opened and closed powerlessly as he looked from McGonagall to Kingsley to Harry. Then suddenly Didact's face became a stony mask. He meticulously closed his folder and tucked it into his robes. He rose and exited the Headmistress' study without further acknowledgment of the existence of anyone else in the room.

Kingsley watched him go with a look of regret.

"He is going to be trouble," said Professor McGonagall.

Harry just shrugged angrily. "It seems I cannot avoid trouble."

"That was too bad, Harry," said Kingsley sadly. "Now don't look at me like that. I don't blame you for deflecting his spell. That was low, and not consistent with Didact's usual manner."

"Seems to me that bloke is capable of just about anything. I felt like we were being shoved through a machine," said Ron, shaking his head.

"No, not anything, Ron," said Kingsley. "Didact is not a cruel man, or evil like a Death Eater. He is not sadistic, he is just cold. He has never broken the law as far as I know. Honestly, his use of Legillimency just now is the first time I think that I have ever heard of him breaching _any_ guideline or protocol."

"Well, that can be evil, too, right Harry?" asked Hermione. "Didn't Dumbledore once tell you that there were a lot of ways to be evil?"

"Yeah, he did," answered Harry. "He told me that when he was talking about Delores Umbridge."

"That is a good comparison," said Professor McGonagall, a look of distaste on her face at the mention of Umbridge. "Didact comes from the same school of thought as Umbridge. His goal always has been what is best for the Ministry. He does not care about people that get hurt in the process."

"Kind of like Barty Crouch," suggested Ron, suppressing a yawn. Hermione looked at Ron worriedly.

Professor McGonagall nodded.

"Well, that is why I want nothing to do with the Ministry. Not if people like Umbridge and Didact can reach such high places," said Harry angrily, flexing his scarred hand.

"I can sympathize with your feelings on that, Harry," said Kingsley in his calmest baritone. "There are many in the Ministry who think and feel as Didact does. They feel that government is self-fulfilling. They feel that government it is not just a means to an end, but also that government itself _is_ the end. But I have worked for the Ministry for my entire adult life, and we are not all so inclined."

"I didn't mean…I was only…" sputtered Harry apologetically. He had not meant to cast dispersions on Kingsley. Kingsley had been a good friend and protector to Harry.

Kingsley sat back in his chair, once again looking as if he was engaging in a fireside chat. "I am not offended, Harry. I am just reserving my judgment on Didact and those like him…for the time being. Didact is very capable, and useful to the Ministry in its current state. We have too few officials left after the fall of Voldemort. We cannot afford to let talented ones go.

"Also, you should know that Didact is in a position that he did not want. The Death Eaters shunted him into the Department of Mysteries to get rid of him. He was not sufficiently sympathetic to their cause. I have declined to shift him out, and he is bitter about that."

"Why didn't you shift him out?" asked Neville.

Kingsley smiled. "Because he is not sufficiently sympathetic to _my_ cause."

"Cause?" asked Harry. "What cause?"

"Oh we will talk about that, My Young Friend," said Kingsley with a smooth chuckle. "That actually leads us to our last bit of business that we need to discuss."

At this, Kingsley and Professor McGonagall looked towards Bill. Bill came forward and took the abandoned seat next to Professor McGonagall.

"Well, I hate to pile things on, Harry," said Bill apologetically, looking towards the Minister questioningly.

Kingsley nodded encouragingly.

"Allright, then," said Bill. He looked at Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville seriously. "I trust that you all heard what Didact said about the Goblins?"


	11. Chapter 11

"Goblins?" asked Ron in bleary impatience. "Do we have to sit here now and talk about those little gits?"

"I'm afraid that we do, Ron," said Bill seriously. "The ministry was approached yesterday evening by goblins from Gringotts, including our friend Griphook. It seems the goblins have a few complaints about you four."

"They're angry about us breaking in?" asked Harry. "Well, that would be easy enough to explain now."

"No, it can't only be the break-in," offered Hermione. "Voldemort was no friend to magical creatures. I am sure that they are happy he's gone. Plus, Neville had nothing to do with that."

"You are correct," said Kingsley. "Perhaps it would be helpful if I fill you in on what Neville and I had discussed earlier today."

Neville sat up straighter. "You mean...they asked about the _sword_?"

A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Harry's stomach. He glanced at Ron and Hermione and they also bore looks of dawning apprehension.

"Yes," said Kingsley. "Their complaints about the break-in to the Lestrange vault were perfunctory to say the least, especially since a Gringotts goblin assisted you. As Hermione has correctly noted, they understand that it was tied to the defeat of Voldemort, though I would guess that they do not know that it was a Horcrux they were keeping. Also, they have stated that the basis for their claim to the sword resulted from the break-in. Therefore, we need to know exactly what happened."

Harry's dread deepened. He suspected that his agreement with Griphook concerning the Sword of Gryffindor was about to come back to bite him.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "We spoke with Neville at length about the sword this morning because we needed to be certain exactly how it come to be in his hands. We needed to know how it presented itself to him. Why don't you explain that, Neville, for the others?"

Neville shrugged his shoulders. "It's pretty simple, really. Harry had told me to try to kill the snake no matter what. I tried to cast a spell at it when Voldemort was out front of the school gloating over his 'victory.' Voldemort disarmed me, and bound me with a spell, and then started to gloat some more. While I was held, I was trying to figure out how to get to the snake…because Harry said it was important."

Neville paused for a moment. A look of raw determination came across his visage as he remembered that desperate moment. He looked as fierce as he had looked when he struck off the head of Nagini.

Harry marveled again at the change in his friend. Since he had entered the Headmistress' study with Didact, Neville had remained unobtrusive. Yet Harry could see that the unobtrusiveness was now a type of confident reserve as opposed to the timidity which had characterized Neville's adolescence.

Harry foresaw Neville's future. Harry was sure that his friend would not seek involvement in great events or roles of leadership, but that these things would be thrust upon him. Dumbledore had said something about that – something about greatness. Harry felt sure that Neville would be equal to any tasks set before him.

Neville's self-effacing manner returned as he continued his story. "Then Voldemort put the sorting hat on me and it burst into flame. It hurt terribly and I was sure I was a goner. All I could think about was getting to that snake before I passed out or was killed, because it burned so _terribly_."

Neville grimaced in recollection of the pain. Hermione had put a hand to her mouth as she heard the tale. Ron looked very impressed.

"I remember asking the sorting hat for help, continued Neville. "I didn't say it out loud. I said it, you know, in my mind. 'I need to get that Snake!' I thought. 'Please help me!' Something like that.

"Then, all of a sudden, the spell holding me just broke! At the same time, something heavy hit me on the head. The sorting hat said, 'Try this! It should work.'"

Neville shrugged and smiled. "It was the sword. It worked."

"Your effing right it did!" barked Ron with a laugh. Professor McGonagall looked at him sharply and Ron instantly wiped the grin off of his face.

"I didn't know it was a Horcrux, though," Neville muttered with a smile, shaking his head. "What would Gran say about _that_, I wonder."

Harry was also impressed. It sounded a lot like what had happened to him in his fight with the Basilisk back in Second Year.

"That is really amazing, Neville. I can't imagine how you could have done it. You were so brave," said Hermione proudly, beaming at the formerly hopeless boy who she had tried to help so often in Potions class. Then she turned her attention back to Professor McGonagall, trying to sound as innocent as she could. "But, Professor, what do the goblins have to do with it?"

"Well, Hermione, we were hoping you three could tell _us_," said the Professor severely, not believing Hermione's innocent tone. "Last night, the goblins requested that you, Neville, Harry and Ron be taken into custody for theft!"

"Theft!" objected the four students in unison.

"Theft," confirmed Kingsley heavily. "After the goblins told me their version of events, however, I convinced them that this was not a criminal matter, but a private dispute. They agreed readily enough, but that leads us into other problems."

The group sat in silence for several minutes as the implications of such a charge, from goblins no less, sank in.

"Harry, I know that you made a deal with Griphook," said Bill. "Obviously it was to assist in getting into the Lestrange vault. Did you offer to give him the sword in exchange for his aid?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Yes, I did."

Harry had expected a storm of protest and indignation from those across the Headmistress' desk. It did not come. Instead, they just looked at him with looks of pity and…was it fear?

"Oh, Harry," said Professor McGonagall sadly. "That is very, very bad."

"Well, I had some pretty important reasons for doing it, you know," said Harry defensively.

"We know you did, Son," said Kingsley, and the mournful sound of his deep voice was more damning than any angry accusation could be. "But I think you do not understand the repercussions of what you did."

Harry was confused. "But we got the sword back," he protested, looking to each of them. "And we didn't steal it. Neville couldn't help that it appeared to him. That's what it does."

Professor McGonagall exhaled heavily. "That is the problem, Harry. That is exactly the problem."

"I don't understand," said Hermione, looking cross at the cryptic answers they were receiving.

Kingsley appeared very weary. "Let me ask you this, Ron and Hermione. Did either of you offer the sword? I mean, did either of you actually speak words to Griphook agreeing to give him the sword?"

"Harry did the talking, I think," said Ron. He looked worried.

"You were right there with me!" exclaimed Harry.

"We all discussed it with each other," said Hermione thoughtfully. "We all agreed amongst ourselves to do it. But Ron's right, Harry. You actually made the deal and spoke the words."

"Big difference," said Harry grumpily, feeling abandoned. Ron and Hermione looked at him apologetically.

"It is, actually," said Bill. "That is actually helpful."

Kingsley nodded in agreement with Bill. "Based on this information, I think it will be possible to get Hermione and Ron off the hook, so to speak. And the goblins all but acknowledged that Neville is blameless for anything other than being a Gryffindor," said the Minister.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," said Harry sarcastically. "Do you think that you could explain what the bloody hell is going on, so I can understand exactly _what_ it is that _I_ am on the hook for."

Kingsley and Professor McGonagall looked at Bill.

Bill took a deep breath. "Harry, do you remember at Shell Cottage when I explained that goblins view ownership differently than wizards? Do you remember when I explained that goblins view purchases of goblin-made objects as more like renting, and that passing objects from wizard to wizard is little more than theft?"

Harry nodded.

"Well that was a bit of a simplification, and I will try to explain it thoroughly now. When wizards purchase something, we view it as complete ownership. That is, we view it as being capable of resale, gifting, passing down to heirs, and so on. Goblins view such practices as immoral and wrong because they think true ownership always remains with the maker of an object.

"When wizards pass objects to each other, goblins don't think of it as exactly equivalent to theft. They think of it more like a tenant who rents a house and stops paying rent. The tenant is not technically a thief, but they are certainly a deadbeat, and the landlord should be entitled to some sort of compensation. Yet goblins understand the difference in viewpoint between wizards and themselves, and wizards are the goblins' biggest customers. So they tolerate our practices, while grumbling and feeling constantly slighted. Is that more clear?"

It wasn't, really, but Harry nodded anyway.

"Now I am sure that you have heard the stories of how you should never cheat a goblin. Goblins can be very…intense…about collecting what they view as their due…"

"Violent, you mean," interrupted Ron with a snort.

Bill gave Ron an annoyed look, but nodded. "Yes. So if you make a contract with a Goblin and renege on it, you are setting yourself up for misery. And traditionally in Goblin culture, not only you, but anyone in your family, clan, tribe, etc., could also be held accountable for your breach of the agreement. The extension of this 'clan' liability was made in proportion to the value of the agreement. For example, a few centuries ago, if you owed a goblin five galleons, they would come after only you. If you owed them one hundred galleons they might come after you and your immediate family. If you owed them a hundred thousand galleons, they might come after your whole city.

"Now, of course, since the Goblin Rebellions were put down, wizards have put a stop to such practices. But you have to remember that goblins have never accepted this deviation from their traditional culture, except to the minimum extent necessary to co-exist with us. And even so, we have still given goblins certain…latitude in collecting their debts."

"That's why they still have a violent reputation," offered Neville. "My cousin got roughed up pretty good because he owed some goblins money for furniture that he sold for them. The Ministry didn't do anything to protect him, and didn't go after the goblins. His right shoulder still hurts when it rains. Gran said that it serves him right for being stupid enough to try and cheat them."

"But I fulfilled the agreement, Bill," said Harry desperately, wishing Neville could have kept his wayward cousin's misfortunes private. "Griphook took the sword. He got it like we agreed."

"Yeah," said Ron angrily. "The little git took it and ran out on us when we were trying to escape the Lestrange vault."

Bill shook his head. "You still don't understand, Harry. You didn't fulfill the agreement from a goblin point of view. Griphook got the sword, but the sword presented itself to Neville, another Gryffindor, almost immediately."

"Oh my God!" whispered Hermione. She had caught on to something quicker than Harry, as usual.

"But that's not my fault," said Harry. "That was Godric Gryffindor. I can't help that!"

"Harry, you have to look at it from a goblin's point of view," said Bill patiently. "You're right that you could not help the sword going to another Gryffindor. That, in fact, was how the Minister convinced Griphook that this was not a criminal matter. But you have to think of things from the point of view of goblin ownership and goblin contracts, _and_ from a point of view of 'clan' liability. You have to understand that this is about more than just your debt to Griphook."

"Okay…" said Harry slowly, still confused.

"Uh oh," said Ron softly, and Harry was surprised that Ron was catching on quicker, too. Harry looked at Neville and felt better. Neville seemed as lost as Harry.

Bill continued. "The sword is priceless, Harry. It is ancient and _absolutely priceless_. I doubt there are enough Galleons in Britain that would make Griphook part with it. Furthermore, because of the way the sword can present itself to any Gryffindor, it belongs to any and all Gryffindors. From a goblin point of view, it is in the control of any Gryffindor holding it and it is subject to that Gryffindor's authority. But it also is the _responsibility_ of all Gryffindors since it can so easily pass from Gryffindor to Gryffindor in time of need. With the magic that was embedded in the sword by Godric Gryffindor, the sword cannot be given to the goblins permanently since it will eventually present itself to another Gryffindor. Is all that clear, Harry?"

"Yes…" said Harry slowly, starting to understand, fear gathering with the dread in the pit of his stomach.

Bill looked mournful again as he dropped the hammer. "So, first and foremost, because of the magic in the sword, you cannot effectively turn control of the sword over to a goblin. Therefore you have made an agreement with a goblin that you cannot fulfill.

"Second, from a goblin point of view, you had authority to give the sword because you are a Gryffindor.

"Third, all Gryffindors, and perhaps all wizards in Britain, are liable for an agreement which features an object of such priceless value."

"Oh my God!" said Harry, realization dawning.

"Yes," said Bill heavily. "And you _all_ must understand the ramifications of this from a goblin point of view. For an object so incredibly priceless, they will stop at nothing to possess it now that they have what _they_ consider a legal basis for its possession. Furthermore, from a goblin point of view, an object so priceless would make it worth reverting to their traditional practice of 'clan' liability. Since the sword is priceless, if they attack the 'clan' of Gryffindors, the 'clan' must suffer in proportion to the value of the agreement. Finally, the destruction of all Gryffindors has the added bonus of actually fulfilling the agreement. That is, if all Gryffindors are dead, then there would be nobody else to whom the sword could present itself. The sword would then be truly theirs."

Harry's mouth fell open.

"But that could mean…that would mean another Goblin Rebellion," said Hermione, horrified.

"That would be war!" squawked Ron.

"War…" breathed Harry, feeling sick. Just when he thought he could find peace, he finds out that he may be the cause of another War.

But could the wizards fight such a war? Harry caught Kingsley's eye. "We are too weak right now, aren't we, Kingsley? We are too weak to be sure of winning after all that has happened. They know that, don't they?"

Kingsley nodded.

Harry shut his eyes, thinking hard. Sudden images of crazed goblins attacking wizards and burning Diagon Alley passed before his mind's eye. He felt a shiver run up his spine and barely managed to keep from throwing up.

"But, this all happened last night?" squeaked Ron incredulously. "They threatened all of this last night?"

"Not exactly," said Bill.

Hermione spoke up again like she was sitting in class. "There are procedures that Goblins follow when collecting a debt and these should give us some time, right?"

"Right. They consider it uncivilized not to follow collection procedures," said Bill, nodding. "They will follow them even in a situation such as this. They also will never make actual threats of violence until violence is imminent anyway. But based on what they are seeking, if you know goblins, you know where their inquiries are leading."

Hermione brushed a strand of curly brown hair from her face as she concentrated, speaking as if to herself. "If it is a very valuable debt, which might have implications to more than the debtor and his immediate family, goblins inform the Ministry of the dispute through the Goblin Liaison Office," said Hermione.

"Griphook formally did that yesterday," responded Kingsley, looking at Hermione appraisingly. "Very good, Hermione."

Hermione continued as if she had not heard him, caught up as she was in her concentration. "Then he should be seeking Harry out in the next few days to make a formal demand. Harry will then have thirty days to pay or settle the debt. If he doesn't pay it or settle it, they will then make a second demand and he will have fifteen more days. If he still cannot pay or settle, then they can seek enforcement, if practicable, through the Courts."

Kingsley looked impressed.

"If the courts are not practicable - like in this situation because of the magic in the sword and the fact that it's priceless - then they will make a formal demand to the Ministry," continued Hermione. "At that point, the Ministry, through the Goblin Liaison Office, has fifteen days to accept responsibility for the wizard and to satisfy the demand by the goblins, or to reject the demand. At that point the goblins must accept the Ministry's decision or…"

"Or what?" asked Harry, his head spinning.

"Well," said Hermione weakly, "the last time the Goblins did not accept a Ministry decision, it led to the Fifth Goblin Rebellion. That was almost two hundred years ago."

Ron let out a low whistle.

"So we have sixty days, then?" asked Neville, looking determined.

"Have you ever considered a career in the law, Hermione," asked Kingsley pleasantly, as if they had not just discussed a looming war. "That was truly outstanding."

"Not really," said Hermione, coloring prettily. Ron tried to look at her proudly, but then another giant yawn split his face.

"Well, tell me this, Hermione," said Kingsley with a smile. "Are you aware of any way that we can extend the time frame from sixty days to a year?"

"No…" said Hermione uncertainly. "Well, only if Harry had a position…oh!" She looked around at Harry in surprise.

"What?!" asked Harry. He was annoyed at being a step behind all the time.

Kingsley folded his hands and looked across the table at Harry. Kingsley's smile was a bit inappropriate to the gravity of the situation. He looked a little bit like the cat that ate the canary.

Hermione looked back at the Minister and then at Harry. "Well, Harry. If you are a Ministry officer or agent…then by tradition and law, the initial thirty day period is extended to one year. That provision was agreed to by goblins and wizards even before the goblins came under wizarding rule. It is an old tradition designed to avoid the wars that almost certainly would result from goblin assaults on Ministry officials."

"That's good," said Ron slowly, visibly counting on his hands. "If the first thirty days is extended to a year, that would give us…what...thirteen months, right? We could get a lot stronger by then."

"And that _might_ deter the goblins from starting a war," agreed Bill.

"What the hell good does that do? I don't work at the Ministry!" said Harry, exasperated.

"It means," said Kingsley, still smiling, "that you must come and work for me."

Harry stared at Kingsley open-mouthed. "I…what?!"

"Well, Harry," said Professor McGonagall sympathetically, "you did always want to be an Auror, didn't you?"

Harry immediately began to speak his protests, but they were half-hearted. He already knew what his answer would be.


	12. Chapter 12

"_That was a setup!"_ thought Harry furiously as the door to the castle banged shut behind him. He stuffed the piece of official looking parchment deep into his pocket. _"A bloody setup!"_

His face a storm cloud, he walked rapidly down the steps of the school in search of Ron and Hermione. Over an hour before, when Ron and Hermione departed the Headmistress' Study and left Harry to the wolves (as he now viewed it), he thought he had heard Hermione mention something to Ron about sitting by the lake to relax for a little while. Harry's angry stride took him in that direction.

He couldn't believe it! His head was swimming. Just when he had thought his life was free of trouble and that he could finally choose his own destiny, it was chosen for him again!

"_I'm a 'Auror Junior Thingy,' now, am I?!" _thought Harry, the late afternoon sunlight dazzling his eyes._ "What a load of …"_

"Harry! We're over here!" shouted a young woman's voice.

Harry was startled to see that his purposeful gait had already carried him to the edge of the lake. He looked towards the sound of the woman's voice. He saw Hermione and Ron set up near the old tree by the lake, not too far from where Harry had sat in the morning…all those ages ago.

It was amazing how much a person's life could change in forty-eight hours.

Hermione was sitting on the ground with her legs stretched out in front of her, primly crossed at the ankles, and with her feet towards the water. She was leaning back against the old tree, and Ron was laying on his back perpendicular to her, his head pillowed in her lap. He had a short thin branch from the old tree in his hands, and he was busy picking the early summer leaves from it one by one. His tiredness by this point was palpable. Hermione was distractedly running her fingers through Ron's hair with one hand, and waving to Harry with the other.

Harry walked towards them. He felt his fury devolving into a strong streak of sulkiness as he approached.

"Hey, Mate," said Ron, tossing the tortured branch into the lake as Harry sat down beside them.

Hermione watched Harry eagerly, a grin on her face. "So? What happened?"

Harry made a noncommittal grunt and shrugged his shoulders.

"Come off it!" said Ron, laughing. "What did they say after they kicked us out? Did they make you Minister of Magic, yet?"

At one point in time, Ron would have been jealous at Harry's accomplishment. Now, however, all Harry could hear was a profound note of humorous pride in Ron's voice. It was almost too much for Harry to stand.

" I'm a 'Junior Auror in Training!'" spat Harry bitterly.

"Well, that's wonderful news, isn't it?" said Hermione, clapping her hands.

Harry shrugged again, feeling suddenly exhausted.

"Well, your happy about it, aren't you?" asked Hermione uncertainly, concern edging her voice. "You always talked about being an Auror. And this makes you…what… the youngest Auror in history?"

Harry dug into the earth and pulled a small pebble from the soil. "I'd like to talk about being just myself for a little while." He heaved the pebble into the lake. "Besides, I'm not an Auror, Hermione. I'm a 'Junior Auror in Training.'"

"I've never heard of that," said Ron, a yawn taking his voice away for a moment. "I thought they just had Auror Trainees and full Aurors."

"That's because Kingsley just made it up," sighed Harry.

Harry pulled the official parchment from his pocket. He tossed it to Ron, who caught it and flattened it out as best he could after all of Harry's angry crinkling. Ron held it up high so that he and Hermione could read it at the same time.

"This looks very official for something that Kingsley just whipped up," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Look! It even has the seal of the Wizengamot on it."

"That's because it was a set up, Hermione," said Harry, shaking his head angrily. "Kingsley knew what he was going to do before he ever got to Hogwarts today. As soon as Griphook left the Ministry, Kingsley had this 'new program' created. Then he rammed it through what is left of the Wizengamot before anyone could protest."

Ron let out a low whistle. "Well, that sounds about like a Minister of Magic."

"That's the problem," said Harry bitterly. "That whole place is a nest of scheming bas…"

"Shame on you Harry!" chastised Hermione, aghast that Harry was taking such a bitter view of such a great event. "Kingsley is your _friend_. How many times has he saved your life?"

"Not to mention my father and brother work there!" said Ron angrily.

"I know, I know," said Harry defensively, feeling apologetic. "I didn't mean it. It's just that every Minister of Magic seems to think it's a grand idea to make me some kind of poster boy." Harry sulkily threw another pebble into the lake. "I'm just mad that Kingsley actually hooked me. Kingsley's alright, don't get me wrong, but I don't like being on display like a trophy."

Ron snorted and Harry scowled at him. Ron scowled back.

As Harry caught his friend's exhausted blue eyes, a sense of guilt made him look away. Here was Harry, angry at receiving an honor. It was a heavy responsibility, too, it was true. Nevertheless, it was an honor that had never been bestowed on any wizard of his age.

But Ron's brother was dead, and Ron's family was enmeshed in sorrows, and Ron's sister, for whom Harry professed such deep affection, was distraught to a level that Harry had never seen. And Harry had only thought of himself all day.

He would have to get by to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley directly and pay his respects. He would have to find Ginny and lend her his shoulder if she needed it.

"Look, Ron," began Harry contritely, "you know how I feel about your mum and dad – your whole family, really. They're like my own family. I'd never say something like that about your father or brothers intentionally. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, well…" said Ron grumpily, but he looked mollified. "What does 'Junior Auror in Training' mean, anyway?"

"I think it means that Harry will be coming back to school," said Hermione, her nose still in the parchment.

Harry wondered if Hermione had just read his mind. "Yeah, it does. How'd you know that?"

"It says so right here in your commission," replied Hermione matter-of-factly. "It says that you are installed in office as an Auror of the most junior grade immediately, to be made an Auror _of rank_ upon completion of your education and a special course of comprehensive Auror training to begin in September. You know, Harry, this is really extraordinary!"

"I know. But it's just a way to make me a ministry employee until I get through with school. That way the goblins can't start a fight for at least a year." Harry was surprised to have to explain this since Hermione had been sitting right there during that part of the meeting.

"I don't think you do understand, Harry," said Hermione shaking her head. "This says that you are already an 'Auror of the most Junior Grade.'"

"So," said Ron with a sleepy smile, his eyelids drooping. "I knew you'd come back to school, Mate." He yawned mightily. "M'glad about that."

Hermione exhaled exasperatedly as she usually did when having to explain things to them. "This is a Commission as an _actual_ Auror! This does not say that you are an Auror _Trainee_, it says that you are _already_ an Auror. You are just of a low rank. I think the only thing that is different between this and a normal Auror's Commission is that this acknowledges that you still have to complete school and your training."

"So? What? Does that mean that I can't flunk out of the training program or something?" asked Harry.

"I think that is exactly what it means!" said Hermione, looking pleased at Harry's cognizance. "I think it also means that you don't have to pass all of your N.E.W.T.s, though I'm sure that you will if you applied yourself. It means that your training and education are more of a formality than anything else. I bet you that Auror Trainees will even have to follow your orders and everything."

"I don't think so," said Harry morosely, shaking his head. "Kingsley said that I will begin training during the school year. He said that it will be three nights a week and both weekend nights on three weekends out of every month. He said that I will be trained with the Auror Trainees. I'm sure the Trainees are just going to _love_ the fact that I have a commission and can't fail the training. I'm sure they'll be _tickled_." An image floated into Harry's mind of being intensively hazed by several jealous wizards and witches.

Hermione looked puzzled. "Why would they care, Harry? Everyone knows what you have done. They'll be thrilled to have you."

Harry smiled. Hermione was brilliant, but she could be thick about some things. Harry was certain that the Auror Training Program would be a lot like a competitive sport. Having played Quidditch, Harry could imagine the locker room mentality that would prevail. The Trainees were not going to like someone that walked in with so much special treatment.

"Maybe you're right," said Harry reassuringly, not wanting to argue the point. Hermione beamed at him.

They sat for several long minutes in silence, watching the late afternoon sky as it progressed towards twilight. Ron's eyelids drooped closed as Hermione continued to stroke his head in a motherly fashion.

Ron mumbled sleepily, "What'd you think of Didact?"

"Oh! That's an interesting story, too," replied Harry.

Hermione made a shushing gesture. Harry got the distinct impression that she was trying to get Ron to fall asleep. Her plan was temporarily derailed as Ron's eyes popped open.

"How so?" asked Ron.

Hermione rolled her eyes in obvious frustration. Harry gave her an apologetic shrug. "Well, remember what Kingsley said about his 'cause,' and how Didact was not sympathetic to it?"

Hermione and Ron nodded.

"Kingsley told me a little about his 'cause.' It turns out that Kingsley has some kind of plan to eliminate people like Didact from the Ministry. He wants to make it 'compassionate' and institute a 'culture of public service' and eliminate 'careerism.'"

"That sounds worthwhile," said Hermione softly.

"Anything that gets rid of gits like Didact is a good thing," agreed Ron dazedly. "You know, we saw his little weirdo of a nephew wandering into the woods just after we came down. I'd hate to see that kid end up working in the ministry. You know what he called me when he brought us up to the meeting? He said I was …"

"Ron," scolded Hermione, amused. "He is just a little boy, for heaven's sake. You can't honestly be upset that he thought you were 'as disordered as a free House Elf.'"

Harry and Hermione chuckled as Ron's ear turned red.

"That didn't bother me at all!" huffed Ron. "After knowing Dobby, I take that as a compliment. Just the same, I don't want his or his uncle's kind in the Ministry." Ron paused as another yawn cracked his jaws. "Or any sadistic nightmares like Umbridge."

"Umbridge," said Harry, his smile disappearing. "At least I don't have to worry about running into her during training. One of the first things Kingsley did as Minister was sack everyone involved in oppression of Muggleborns."

Ron made an appreciative grunt.

Hermione also nodded in grim satisfaction. "Excellent! You know, I'm very hopeful about all of this. I mean, you're in the Ministry, Harry! You can work to change things directly now."

"We'll see," said Harry noncommittally. He tossed another pebble and the Trio sank into another silence. Ron's eyes drooped closed again.

Harry had liked what Kingsley had said, but he still felt ill-used. He didn't like the choreography of the meeting today. It was all too well planned for his comfort.

He didn't mind the commission. Even though he wasn't prepared to admit it, he was quite proud of it. Harry remembered warmly the way that Professor McGonagall had beamed at Harry when Kingsley had presented the commission.

But even so, Harry would have liked them to have talked about it with him first before drawing the thing up. He did not like the way his path had, yet again, been foreordained for him. Even though he trusted those who had planned this course of action, and even though he had accepted it as the only option given the circumstances, Harry knew that he would be jealous of his independence from now on.

He was going to do this. He was going to be an Auror and a Ministry official.

But he was going to do this _his_ way.

Harry heard a soft snore coming from the vicinity of Hermione's lap, and glanced over at the new couple. Harry suddenly felt that he was intruding.

Hermione was gazing down at Ron, stroking his hair. He slept now, open mouthed, his head in her lap. Her face was a mixture of concern and relief. The tenderness of her touch upon his hair, and the light of unrestrained affection in her eyes, made Harry feel as if he was interrupting a very personal and private scene.

Harry quietly stood to leave, and Hermione looked up at him. Hermione smiled, but she did not ask him to stay.

"Is he going to be alright?" asked Harry in a barely audible whisper, feeling suddenly concerned for his exhausted best mate.

Hermione waved Harry closer so that she could whisper very low. He knelt down next to her and watched Ron's chest rise an fall in the regular deep breaths of slumber.

"He's barely slept," whispered Hermione. "He won't talk about his brother. He's trying to be there for everyone else, but he won't let on that he's even upset." She smiled down at Ron warmly. "He won't let me leave his side, though. Not even for a minute."

There had been a time that Ron would have sought Harry out for such support. A time when Ron would have needed Harry's comforting presence in such tragedy. Harry reckoned that such time had passed.

Hermione would be Ron's comfort now. There was a new closeness between his two friends that did not involve Harry. A couple of years ago, such a shift would have bothered him. Now it seemed like it…fit.

Harry leaned down and gave Hermione a brotherly kiss on the top of her head. "Are you comfortable? How long will you stay here like this?"

Still gazing down at Ron and stroking his hair, Hermione airily replied, "Oh, I'll stay as long as he sleeps."

Seeing Hermione and Ron together made Harry happy but he also felt the sting of loneliness. He thought back to his first waking moments that day, and the feel of Ginny in his arms. Harry decided to go pay his respects to the Weasleys immediately.

He straightened up and dug the invisibility cloak from his robes. He placed it on the ground beside Hermione, and whispered, "In case you get cold."

Hermione smiled gratefully, and Harry departed as quietly as he could.

As he made his way down the twilit path, the burgeoning night rose around the castle grounds like a drawn cloak. Warm light bloomed in the castle windows like newborn stars in the void.

Before darkness and distance swallowed them, Harry glanced back at his friends. He saw Hermione's silhouette raise her fingertips lightly to her lips, and then touch her hand gently to the sleeping face cradled in her lap.


	13. Chapter 13

The dim structure of Hagrid's cabin stood out against the deeper darkness of the forest behind it. Candlelight flickered weakly from inside, painting the murky windows in somber hues.

Harry slowed his approach, thinking on what he could possibly say to the Weasleys in their grief. In his mind swam the image of Fred's twinkling eye and laughing face. Harry felt a lump in his throat at the thought of his dead friend.

What could he say to Mr. Weasley? Arthur would be so proud of his son and the sacrifice he had made, and he would be strong and sure for his wife. But he would be so quietly grieved by the loss, as if Fred was his only boy and not one of several.

What could he possibly say to Mrs. Weasley? She loved her many children like the sun rose and set upon each of their shoulders. When Harry thought of the idea of a mother, the image that sprang to his mind was always that of Molly. In his mind had always been the red-haired, portly, imperious, loving and wonderful woman who had always treated Harry like one of her own.

What were the words to comfort George? What can be said to a friend who had lost his alter ego and the person that had been closest to him since even before birth? Would that mischievous flame still live in George's eye, or had it died with the brother that had always inspired so much of its merriment?

And then there was Ginny. He wanted to tell her so much, and he was at a loss for words at the best of times. What would he say to her now? There were no words.

Harry shrank from the meeting awaiting him only a few dozen feet away. His feet stopped moving of their own accord. He stared at the dimly lit windows, and felt such severe trepidation. Once again, Harry felt the disconnected, muddled feeling that he had experienced by the lake that morning. The temptation to allow the numbness to overtake him, to feel neither mourning nor triumph, was strong.

Excuses sprang to his mind. This was a situation that the Weasleys might want to deal with in private. They might not welcome his presence. They needed to heal before he came around speaking wholly inadequate words of sorrow and comfort. They needed each other, not to make a fuss over Harry with his ill-timed visit.

Then, as Harry stood there in the dark, slowly convincing himself to make his way back to the castle, a flash of red caught his eye through the sooty kitchen window of the cabin. Ginny gazed out at him. For a moment he blanched, thinking that she had seen him. But he quickly realized that the light inside the cabin, and the burgeoning night without, made the windows like a mirror. Ginny was not studying him. She was studying her own face.

She straightened the collared shirt she wore, and scrubbed at her cheeks with the back of her hand, wiping away the tell-tale signs of tears. She splashed water from the sink on her face to cover her grief. She then practiced small smiles, and settled on the one that looked the most comforting. Ginny at last turned and faced someone behind her in the room.

Harry knew what had happened. Ginny had given in to her sorrow for a time, being comforted by her family. Now she was composing herself to return that comfort. The feeling of numbness disappeared instantly, and Harry suddenly had a deep urge to grab all of the Weasleys and hold them close to him.

He resumed walking to the door. Harry would not retreat from the meeting ahead. The Weasleys were the kindest people that he had known in his young but eventful life. Without their comfort and support, he could never have done what he had needed to do for all those years. They were his family by choice, if not by blood and bone.

So intent was Harry on his newfound purpose, that he only fleetingly noticed a small figure emerging from the Forbidden Forest a few hundred yards from him. Harry paused, his hand inches from knocking on the door, and watched the small boy run from the forest.

For a moment, Harry thought of going to investigate, because the figure was obviously frightened and casting glances back over his shoulder as if worried about pursuit. But then the boy stopped running. With an effort obvious even at such a distance, the boy composed himself and began walking in a measured stride towards the castle. Harry watched for a few moments and fingered his wand, but nothing emerged from the forest to chase the boy.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. The boy had probably just taken advantage of the decreased attentiveness of the school staff and decided to explore the Forbidden Forest. It was easy to lose track of time in its shadowy depths, and the boy had probably been spooked by the rapid onset of the night.

Harry turned back to the door in front of him and squared his shoulders. The Weasleys needed him right now, as he had needed them. He would not shrink from them, as they had not shrunk from him. Then he knocked on the door and he was immediately engulfed in the generous emotion of the Weasley family.

Thinking back on it later that night as he crawled into his four-poster, Harry knew he had helped, if only a little.

Charlie had clapped Harry on the back, and had seemed grateful for a newcomer to divert the sorrow that had held sway over the cabin for the past two days.

"The mood around here has just about driven him mad," Ginny had whispered to Harry as she had passed by while making her way to the kitchen to get Mrs. Weasley a drink of water.

Percy had also seemed pleased to have someone to divert his attention, and bent Harry's ear for almost an hour about the events planned for the following day. "And you'll sit with us of course, Harry!" he had said in the same uniquely Percy-ish way that Ron had done earlier.

"He's just happy to have someone who is polite enough to listen to him," Ginny had said under her breath as she moved to sit next to her father and lean her head on his shoulder.

At one point, Mr. Weasley had given Harry an unabashed hug. For a long time afterward Mr. Weasley had stood with an arm around Harry's shoulders. At that moment, Harry had felt himself the object of Mr. Weasley's fatherly pride, and had felt their mutual need for support.

"I don't know what we'd do without Dad," Ginny had observed quietly as she and Harry rearranged some of Fang's things to allow enough room for them all.

Mrs. Weasley was obviously not herself. For the first time that Harry could remember, she had not tried to fatten Harry like an engorged tick the moment she laid eyes on him. At one point she'd had a bit of a breakdown. Mrs. Weasley had clutched Harry like she could no longer clutch her dead son, and Harry had felt the depths of her grief in the strength of the embrace. When she released him, Harry found that she was not the only one wiping tears away with protestations of embarrassment. Then she had bustled off to the hearth to prepare something for them all to eat.

"That's the first time she's cooked!" Ginny had whispered as they set the table for dinner. She had then given Harry a hopeful smile.

George sat near Harry for a long time while the family all discussed with Harry the meeting with the Minister of Magic that day. George barely spoke and stared blankly at the kitchen fire. But before he moved away, George gave Harry a small grateful grin, which held a hint of its old troublesome twist.

"I hope he'll be alright. I think he will…" Ginny had mumbled uncertainly as she watched George move away. Harry had reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly. She had squeezed back.

Through all of the long hours, and all of the emotional outpourings, and through all of the plans and recounting of events, there had been Ginny. She would suddenly appear at his elbow, or hold his hand, or whisper her commentary in his ear, or otherwise just be there with him. She would be near him, drawing comfort from his presence, and he from hers.

They did not talk really, not in any profound way. But when Harry had said his goodbyes amid the family's protests that he should stay with them in the cabin, and as he had made his way towards the door with his thanks for dinner, Ginny had gotten up and walked him out. Nobody among the Weasleys had acted as if they had even noticed anything out of the ordinary.

As Harry lay awake that night in his four-poster, he could still feel the tingle of Ginny's soft cheek against his, and the sound of her voice.

"Thank you, Harry," she had whispered, brushing the slightest kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then she had blessed him with a radiant smile, and whirled back into the cabin. Harry knew they would talk soon…when the time was right.

As he lay in bed, Harry re-lived the scenes of the eventful day. Harry had done a lot of soul searching, had felt some poignant moments, and had received high honors that day. But Harry was happiest because he had managed to help his favorite family in the world…at least a little bit.

Sleep was illusive for Harry. The day's events moved before his mind's eye, keeping him awake for a time. Yet as the clock crept into the small hours of the morning, the images eventually became disjointed, and his thoughts began to drift.

The last image was one that Harry had barely noted, but suddenly sprang to mind. Harry saw a small boy emerging from the Forbidden Forrest. The boy moved towards the castle at a dead run. Before dreams overtook consciousness, Harry incoherently wondered why Alexander Didact had been scared.

Why had the boy looked like he'd seen a ghost?


	14. Chapter 14

Harry wondered for a moment where he was. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, trying to grasp the remnants of the dream from which he had just awoken. It had been a pleasant dream, a dream of childhood and sunlight and laughter, but it was gone.

His eyes focused on the ceiling above, sliding towards the ornate crown molding at the corners where it met the walls. He listened for the sounds of Ron sleeping nearby, but heard only the creek of the wind against the windowpane. He noticed a complex tapestry on the wall and blearily wondered where his bed hangings were. Then it struck him – he was not at school.

"Grimmauld Place," he murmured. "I'm at…home."

He had been there for a while, he realized. Ten days, in fact. Harry looked out the window to his room, a room that had once belonged to Sirius Black. The darkness outside was complete. That was when he remembered what he had to do in this pre-dawn morning.

He looked at the wristwatch. It was 3:00 AM. That was good. He had not overslept. Professor McGonagall had been adamant that they needed to do this at night. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about visiting Dumbledore's tomb. Harry had had enough sadness to last a lifetime, but he knew it must be done.

"Kreacher," called Harry.

There was a loud crack followed by, "Yes, Master."

"Breakfast, please, Kreacher," said Harry.

"At such an hour, Master Harry?" asked Kreacher disbelievingly. Then Kreacher croaked under his breath, "Master suddenly arises so early today, after staying up half the night for the past week with the Weasley boy and Miss Hermione."

"Not today, Kreacher," said Harry reproachfully. Harry then smiled at the elf to take the sting out of his words. "Just breakfast, please. I'm in a hurry."

Kreacher looked at Harry through Rheumy eyes. He had the look of a grouchy but indulging uncle. He bowed his head and shuffled from the room.

Feeling alert despite the early hour, Harry rose quickly and pulled on a sweatshirt, jeans and his trainers. He was thankful that he'd had the foresight the night before to bathe and get to bed early. Kreacher had been correct in his observation. Except for last night, Harry had been up half the night, every night, with Hermione and Ron since…

"Since Fred's funeral," Harry murmured, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed. He wondered when it would stop hurting.

Harry rose, feeling less energetic than he had moments before. The last week had been a blessing really, having Ron and Hermione there at Grimmauld Place. A week before, just after the funeral, Hermione had brought up the subject of their studies for the coming year. With her usual intensity she had observed that their trip to Australia during the summer would prevent her from getting her usual head start on the school year. Despite her oft-proven brilliance, she felt sure that she would be at a disadvantage, having missed a full year, and being distracted by their upcoming trip.

To her delighted surprise, Ron had suggested that they all start studying immediately in order to brush up on the material from their Sixth Year. He had also pointed out that they should try to get ahead by covering some of the Defense Against the Dark Arts material for their N.E.W.T. exams.

With uncharacteristic circumspection, he had pointed out to Harry, "We really should, Mate. It will help you keep up in the Auror Training this fall." That was when Hermione had kissed him in an embarrassing fashion.

Harry shook his head with a smile as he made his way down the steps to the cellar kitchen. Harry reckoned that half of the reason that Ron had thrown himself into the studying so thoroughly over the past week was because it elicited such an amorous response from Hermione. Harry then remembered those worried looks that Hermione would cast in Ron's direction each night, and the way that Ron would push to keep studying into the small hours of the morning.

Ron wouldn't talk about it still, but he looked regretful every time he and Hermione departed for the Burrow.

"He's still not sleeping much," murmured Harry, entering the kitchen.

Hermione accompanied Ron back to the Burrow each night since Mrs. Weasley was not thrilled with the idea of Ron and Hermione staying at Grimmauld Place together without a chaperone. It wasn't that they couldn't convince her otherwise. They were of age, after all, and they could make the requisite promises and protestations of appropriate behavior. But none of them wanted to cause Mrs. Weasley any further disquiet. Plus, since Hermione had no home until she located her parents, Mrs. Weasley had kindly offered her a spot in Ginny's room for as long as Hermione needed it, much to Hermione's and Ginny's mutual delight.

"Ginny," said Harry, feeling guilty. Harry had barely seen her in the past week, and then only briefly when he stopped by to meet up with Ron and Hermione. Harry hadn't been avoiding her at all, but the mood at the Burrow had been so somber in the past week that the time was never quite right. Plus, it did not help that Ron always rushed he and Hermione out of the door like he was making an escape. Harry was worried he'd never get to talk to Ginny until they all left for Australia, if Ginny was allowed to go, which was still undecided. "I should go by the Burrow after..."

"Pardon, Master?" asked Kreacher.

"Nothing. Oh, sorry, Kreacher," replied Harry. Harry began quickly gathering a few of the tasty pastries that Kreacher had put out for breakfast. "Look, Kreacher, I'm going on an early morning errand at Hogwarts, and then I am going to stop by the Burrow. I might end up staying there for the day, so don't be worried."

"Yes, Master," said Kreacher. He mumbled something further under his breath, but Harry didn't catch it. Harry let it pass. He looked around the kitchen and noticed its pristine and gleaming condition, feeling very thankful to have the elf.

Harry said, "Kreacher, you've kept the house in perfect condition this week, and your clean-up has been going better than I expected. Hermione and Ron were quite impressed. Please keep it up today if you feel like it, and keep storing those dark objects for me, alright?"

The unbelievable amount of dark objects that Kreacher had unearthed throughout the house had been very helpful. They gave Harry and his friends something upon which to focus their studies for the past week. To his own surprise, Harry believed he was learning some good tricks, at least as far as curse breaking was concerned.

"Of course, Master," said Kreacher, puffing out his chest at the compliment.

Harry smiled and waved to the elf. Then, bracing himself for the unpleasant sensation, he turned on the spot and disapparated.

Harry looked up at the familiar iron gates with the moonlit silhouette of the castle behind. Harry did not feel the exhilaration of a homecoming that usually accompanied sight of Hogwarts. He had a purpose here tonight, and he felt the need to be about it without delay.

The gates were open as Professor McGonagall had said they would be. Harry passed through them. Instead of making his way up the familiar dark path, Harry turned and cut across the school grounds. As Harry made his way, he thought back over the past several days. He hoped that tonight would be the last time he had to appear at a graveside. He had seen too many.

"The memorial service," muttered Harry to himself, making a list. "Collin, Remus, Tonks…Fred…the others. Too many."

He had attended many others, actually. He had felt an obligation to try to attend as many as there was time for. He had spent every morning and afternoon attending funerals, wakes and memorial services before ensconcing himself with Ron and Hermione each evening. While Ron and Hermione seemed to think he was punishing himself, and Kreacher's mutterings on the subject had approached insolence, after each service, Harry felt a little bit more peace settle over him. Harry knew that these poor people had died for him, so that he could attain victory. That victory made Harry the hero of the hour, but these people, many of them younger than he was, had made the ultimate sacrifice to bring down the Dark Lord. They were the real heroes, and Harry was in awe of them. The least that he could do was to let these heroes' families know that he appreciated the depth of their grief.

As Harry saw the distant shape of the White Tomb glinting in the fragile light of the moon, he took comfort in his thoughts. It was a comfort that had occurred to him during Fred's funeral, when Harry's grief had been at its apogee. This was the first in the series of burials that Harry had attended. It had been George who had inspired Harry to attend the others. George, despite his silence immediately after Fred's death, had been the height of eloquence as he spoke to the loss that Harry felt.

Harry remembered:

_George had taken the podium in front of the tearful mourners. He was somberly, yet tastefully, dressed in black robes of fine cloth and plain cut. His eyes were dry, but red, as if he had just finished with a private bout of mourning. He stood at the podium for several long seconds, composing himself with deep steady breaths, and then he looked out at those assembled. _

"_You know," George began, but then had to steady himself again as his voice shook. He took another deep breath, and tried again. "You know, I reckon that my Mum was a little nervous when I was asked by my father to give the eulogy for my dear brother. In our time together in this life, Fred and I were not known for our serious natures, as you can all attest."_

_Harry found himself smiling ruefully at the truth of that statement and George also smiled sadly._

"_Or perhaps it was that Mum, being the wonderful and omniscient mother that she is, simply knew how hard Fred's death has been on me." George's voice grew stronger and clearer, finding the rhythms of his thoughts. "Perhaps she knows that there has been nobody in this world besides Fred with whom I have been closer._

"_Over the last couple of days, I have repeatedly thought of various things, searching for something to comfort me and my family. I have thought about what a worthy cause Fred sacrificed himself for. I have thought about how he will live on in our memories. I have thought about how much we all loved him, and how much he loved us. I have thought about what a truly good and decent person he was to those whom he loved, or to those whom he had just met, and how this will certainly reap him an eternal reward. All of these thoughts have gone through my mind, and each of them provided some small comfort to me, as I am sure they have to each of you."_

_Harry felt himself nodding. He looked at Ginny, seated beside him to his right, and took her hand. She squeezed it gratefully, tears glinting at the corner of her eyes._

"_But they did not comfort me enough, you see," said George, and he looked out at the audience, scanning the faces. _

"_They did not comfort me nearly enough for the great ocean of loss that I felt upon my brother's death. George to me was my right arm and I was his. We could and regularly did complete each other's sentences. To us it did not matter what we did, as long as the other one was there. To me, when he died, it was like laughter had gone out of the world, because my laughter always was accompanied by Fred's. _

"_But now he's gone."_

_Harry heard Hermione sob and glanced over to find her face buried in Ron's shoulder. Ron wore a stoic, numbed expression. Ginny squeezed hard at Harry's hand, drawing support from the contact. Harry placed his other hand over hers._

"_My friend, and Fred's friend, Lee Jordan came to see me while I was awash in this despair. We didn't talk much because I did not want to burden him with my dark thoughts. Yet in that visit, Lee said something that struck me and saved me from my gloom. He said, 'I hope that Fred is making the ghosties laugh as much as he made me laugh.'"_

_Here George paused again. He looked down, and a smile suddenly bloomed on his face._

"_The thing about Fred was, it doesn't matter what you did with him, you always had fun. He was _always_ a laugh. Each and every one of you will forever have at least one Fred Weasley story. I have thousands. My Mum and Dad have ten thousand, which I am sure they can laugh about now, even if at the time they felt the need to burnish our backsides or break our eardrums."_

_Here the crowd let out small noises of amusement, and Harry looked over and saw Mrs. Weasley smiling a hesitant smile at some memory. _

"_My brother has 'gone on,' as we say. But there is still laughter… somewhere…because he is there. Right now, all of our friends who were lost in this great and terrible victory, Dumbledore, Remus, Tonks and so many others, all wear an eternal smile because their comrade, Fred Weasley, is with them._

"_And when we die, as we all must, though I pray that it will be a long time for each of us, we should not be sad shades when we move to the next world._

"_For, as we approach, we will hear the sound of raucous laughter from beyond those Pearly Gates. _

"_When we meet our lost friends, they will greet us in good and hearty spirits. _

"_And when the Creator welcomes us, He will wear a smile on His face."_

_George's eyes were shining, and he seemed to look above the heads of the crowd, yet into their hearts at the same time._

"_I now feel joy and comfort. Because the simple truth of it is this: today – right now – the heavens ring with laughter, because my brother, my dear beloved Fred, is there."_

George had struck a chord in Harry, and Harry had felt like whooping in relief after George had resumed his seat. There it was. The fact was simple, and Harry knew it better than most, and perhaps better than anyone else alive.

"_The dead live on,"_ Harry thought with renewed wonder. _"They _live_. They just don't live _with us_ anymore. It is sad that they are gone, but we will see them again someday."_

Harry knew that he would see his parents again, and Remus and Tonks, for Harry had held the Resurrection Stone in his hand, and had talked with the dead.

"_They were not sad or in pain, or lost," _Harry thought, remembering the look on his mother's face as he had held the Resurrection Stone._ "They were alive and vibrant and they _still love us

"_And sometimes, they still guide us. Sometimes, at least for me, they meet us somewhere 'in between.' Whether it was real or just in my mind doesn't really matter. But they can meet us and they laugh and cry, and give us last infusions of wisdom and comfort and courage, as Dumbledore did."_

The White Tomb was close now, just up a small rise. Harry was walking purposefully towards it to bury the Elder Wand with his old Headmaster where it belonged. Professor McGonagall was smiling down at Harry, waiting for him, holding the wand in her hand.

Harry would place the wand in Dumbledore's tomb. Harry would remember the Headmaster's wry smile and mad wisdom. Then Harry would know that he could never again rely on the direct intervention of the power of that kindly old man to get Harry through the trials ahead. But Harry carried Dumbledore inside him, and remembered the lessons that Dumbledore had taught.

In the same way that Harry would have to find laughter in this world without Fred, so too would Harry, from this point forward, have to guide himself without Dumbledore. This concept did not scare Harry. Actually, he felt well prepared.

It was time to perform the last burial. It was time to say goodbye to the dead, until their meeting in the next world.

Harry smiled as he approached Professor McGonagall, and thought of Ginny. It was time to focus on the living.


	15. Chapter 15

Just minutes before, Harry had been worried that his arrival at the Burrow would be too loud. He had intended to apparate a few hundred yards up the road so that the _crack_ of his emergence would not wake anybody. He had been so excited about seeing Ginny, that he had not really figured out how he would explain his arrival before dawn, or get to see her without waking up someone. He had also failed to apparate with the requisite deliberation, and had found himself standing right next to the Weasleys' broom shed.

This had been a fortunate error, however, because he had arrived in the middle of a full blown row between Hermione and Ron, right there in the middle of the garden. Not wanting to be drawn into the argument, Harry had instinctively hopped out of sight into the broom shed among its spidery inhabitants. His friends were so involved in their verbal duel that they had not even noticed the sound of his arrival, and Harry was pretty sure that their shouting would wake up the Burrow's residents much more quickly than Harry's appearance.

Now Harry cursed under his breath in the darkness of the shed, and bided his time as Hermione and Ron argued back and forth across the garden. He felt a crick forming in the small of his back because of his awkward hunched position in the confined space, and he wondered how much longer it could go on. He took a broom and leaned on it to relieve his cramped muscles.

He tried to think of pleasant things and waited for his friends to wind down their argument. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to pay attention as the fighting couple moved into a position a few feet from Harry. Ron and Hermione were in plain sight through one of the many large cracks in the walls of the little outbuilding.

"Ron, please," said Hermione plaintively. She sounded on the edge of tears. "You have to go back to bed! You collapse from exhaustion every night! You've only been asleep for three hours!"

"Stop bossing me around, Hermione," said Ron loudly. "Why did you follow me out here anyway? You go to bed. I'm fine."

"Your Mum and Dad are doing okay now. You need to deal with your own grief. This isn't healthy, Ron! You're going to make yourself ill!"

"Get off my case, alright!" shouted Ron, rounding on Hermione. For a moment Harry thought Ron would strike her. "What do you know about it anyway? Your family's fine."

Hermione held her ground. "I don't know how my family is," she said softly.

"Yeah, well, they're sunning themselves on a beach and having a grand time, aren't they?!" said Ron, shaking a clenched fist at her. His face had gone from red to purple.

"Ron, I'm just worried about you," said Hermione patiently. "I don't want to fight with you. But you can't bottle this up inside you. I've read a lot about the psychology of grief…"

Ron's face twisted in fury. "You're just so bloody smart, aren't you? You know what I say? I say eff your books, and eff your muggle psypopogy… and eff you too!"

Ron stared at Hermione, shaking. Uncharacteristically calm, Hermione just stood there and let Ron's anger wash over her. She was letting Ron vent on her. She continued to meet his angry stare with her own patient gaze.

This only seemed to infuriate Ron further, and he took another menacing step towards her, towering over her. She had to crane her head upwards because of his height.

"You're just _so_ much smarter than me, yeah?! You know everything, right?! You know what's best for everybody!" Ron was yelling, now. "Well, you don't know about this, Hermione! You're a spoiled brat of an only child, aren't you? You don't have any brothers or sisters, do you? You don't know what it's like to see your mother's heart ripped out! You don't know what it's like to hold your…to hold your dead brother in …to…"

Ron's voice broke, and with it, so did the wave of his anger. He looked away quickly. "You just don't understand," he said shakily.

"You're right. I don't understand," said Hermione, taking Ron's face in her hands and making him look her in the eye. "But I want to understand, if you'll let me."

Ron just shook his head, his face screwing up with repressed emotions. Hermione stepped closer to Ron, embracing him and resting her head on his chest.

"I know you are so very sad, and it's breaking my heart," said Hermione softly. "I just want to help."

Ron's lip started trembling and then his face broke into a portrait of acute grief. His legs gave way and he sank to his knees. Hermione was there with him, her arms wrapped around him in support.

"Oh God!" Ron gasped in a strangled voice, and he began weeping shamelessly into her shoulder.

And so they continued for a long while. Ron and Hermione knelt together in the garden while he cried his heart out. Ron unleashed the grief that he had caged for the past two weeks. Hermione stroked his hair, held him tightly, and cooed comforting sounds into his ear. He clutched her like a drowning man clinging to salvation.

Harry's heart was sick for his best mate, and Harry had a strong desire to come out of the shed and lend what comfort he could. But Harry knew Ron better than just about anybody, and Harry was very sure that Ron would not show such emotion to Harry. This was Hermione's place now. Thus, Harry quietly waited among the spiders of the broom shed for Ron's breakdown to exhaust itself, and felt a sympathy for his friend that was as unrestrained as Ron's weeping.

Eventually, Ron's sobs became deep breaths as he sought to regain control of himself. "It…it hurts, 'Mione," said Ron into her shoulder. He sounded almost like a child. "Whenever I close my eyes, I see him…his eyes…"

"I know," she whispered comfortingly, her own tears coating her cheeks. "All will be well. You'll see."

"All will be well," Ron echoed as if reciting a prayer, taking a shuddering breath. "All will be well."

After a few more minutes, Ron raised his head and looked at Hermione. She raised a finger and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and smoothed down his hair. She kissed him lightly.

"Whenever you want to…whenever you're ready, I'm here to listen," said Hermione.

"I love you," said Ron. He said it simply, like the way someone might observe that the sky is blue.

Hermione let out a surprised little gasp, but smiled beautifully. "I…I love you too," she said, her voice quavering.

It happened so quickly that if Harry had blinked he would have missed it; but suddenly, Hermione and Ron were kissing passionately, almost greedily. In a flash, Hermione's cloak was cast aside among the garden gnomes. Her hands, which had held Ron comfortingly a few moments before, were struggling to remove Ron's cloak. Once it had joined Hermione's on the ground, Ron, with a look of disbelieving wonder on his face, watched as Hermione began to tug at his shirttails and trying to undo the buttons. Ron momentarily forgot his grief in the face of the couples' youthful needs, and he smiled broadly, burying his face in Hermione's neck. She must have liked what he was doing, because she closed her eyes and let out a low moan.

Grunting in scandalized embarrassment, Harry began to think about disapparating straight from the broom shed and returning to Grimmauld Place. Even a chance to see Ginny was not worth this mortification. Hermione saved him the need to make a decision, however.

"Ron, wait," whispered Hermione. "Ron, your parents!"

"Sleeping," said Ron from somewhere near Hermione's earlobe.

"Ron…hmmmm," said Hermione again. Ron must have done something she liked, because she shivered, and pulled his head up, kissing him deeply. Then she said, "Please. Wait just a second."

"Okay," said Ron, but the look of hungry disappointment on his face was telling. Harry had a very strong feeling that the physical aspects of Ron's and Hermione's new relationship had not gone as far as Ron would have wished in the past couple of weeks.

"Not in the _garden_, Silly Boy," said Hermione teasingly, patting Ron's cheek.

"Right. Uhh, where then?" asked Ron hopefully, not yet willing to admit defeat.

Harry almost laughed out loud at Ron's expression. Hermione giggled, but then bent down and dug into her cast-aside cloak. She pulled out a small beaded bag, shaking it lightly. It sounded like a loaded railway car being overturned.

"I've still got the tent packed in here," said Hermione coyly. "Would you like to go by the Forest of Dean for a few hours?"

A giant smile bloomed on Ron's face. He looked like a man who had made an unlikely wager and hit an big payday. He quickly scooped up Hermione's cloak.

"Let's go!" he exclaimed.

Hermione laughed as he chivalrously hung her cloak about her. He then hugged her, and they kissed lovingly.

"Hermione?" Ron asked as they separated. He checked his pockets until he assured himself that his wand was there.

"Yes?" she replied as she checked her own pockets.

"What changed your mind? I mean, yesterday you said you weren't even close to being ready."

"I don't know. Maybe we both are now."

Ron gave her a puzzled look. "Was it because I cried?"

"Let's just say that your emotional range has gotten considerably larger than a teaspoon," giggled Hermione.

"Right," said Ron, putting on his cloak. He looked at her with a lopsided grin. "Should I cry every day, then?"

Hermione's expression shifted. "You really need to learn to quit while you're ahead."

"I do. I really do," he said, chuckling at her annoyance.

"Shut up, Ronald." But she smiled as she took his hand and turned on the spot.

Harry stood in the shed for several minutes, trying to grasp what he had just witnessed. Apparently things were about to change quite a bit for Ron and Hermione in this early morning. Harry shook his head, marveling at the recuperative emotional powers of his fellow young people and their hormones. He silently wished them the best.

Harry waited to make sure they did not come back, not wanting to be forced to explain his eavesdropping on such events. He then brushed off the spiders infiltrating his clothing. He exited the shed still holding the broom upon which he had been leaning. As he began to formulate a plan for finding Ginny at this ungodly hour (perhaps he could fly up to her window and tap on it?), he heard some soft footsteps coming through the shadows behind the shed.

Harry turned to see a corona of red hair and a slim form emerging into the pre-dawn light.

"That was…interesting, wasn't it?" said Ginny amusedly.


	16. Chapter 16

Ginny and Harry stared at each other in silence. It was dark, but Harry felt as if a bright light shone on the young woman before him. His eyes drank her.

Ginny's gaze drifted to the broom clasped in Harry's hands.

"Are you leaving?" she asked with a slight sardonic grin.

Harry started at the sound of her voice, glancing quickly at the broom.

"Oh! Yeah," said Harry, holding up the broom. "I was…well, never mind."

Harry was a little flustered and realized he might sound foolish.

"Yeah, I _was_ leaving," said Harry as inspiration struck him. She disarmed him, but he did not feel awkward or uncomfortable. He swung his leg over the broom and held his hand out to her. "Would you like to come?"

Ginny just stood there for several long moments, inscrutable.

"Ginny…" said Harry, disconcerted by her silence and surprised by the needful tone of his voice.

"Wait here," she ordered abruptly, and ran into the Burrow. After a minute that seemed like an hour, she came out of the lopsided house, throwing a cloak around her shoulders and stuffing a wrapped bundle into her pocket.

Before Harry could blink, Ginny had swung herself onto the broom behind him. She snaked her arms around his waist, and clutched him so tightly that Harry felt lightheaded. Perhaps it was the touch and smell of her that affected him so, but Harry could not tell nor did he care. Ginny was holding him, her cheek pressed against his back. For the moment, this was all that mattered.

They kicked off from the ground and rose lazily into the air. Harry felt no need to rush, and he turned the broom in a slow sweeping arc towards the hills that separated the Burrow from the Lovegoods' home. Higher and higher they flew, until the air changed from the cool moistness of an early summer dawn to the dry chilly air that can only be found at altitude.

"You alright?" asked Harry when he felt Ginny shiver slightly.

"Fine," she said, and she hugged him tighter.

They soared much higher than the surrounding hills, and Harry glided directly above the ridgelines, looking for a particular familiar spot. The sky continued to lighten from a deep indigo to a light blue as they flew leisurely through the morning air. The high thin clouds overhead slowly became rosy fingers stretching across the sky.

Harry finally found the hilltop that he was seeking. It was a place to which he, Ron and Hermione had apparated while looking for the Lovegoods' during the previous winter. It was a good place to land and provided an impressive view of the surrounding countryside. As they touched down lightly, the sun peaked above the horizon, bathing them in its molten glow.

As they alighted from the broom, Ginny looked around the little clear patch of ground around them, and then at Harry with a quizzical expression on her face.

"What?" asked Harry. "Is something wrong?"

"When you said you were leaving, you just meant coming up here?" asked Ginny.

"Yeah. It's nice enough, isn't it? Why? What did you think I meant?"

"Oh something like that," she said too quickly.

"You didn't think I meant for good!" said Harry incredulously.

"Well you didn't exactly explain yourself," said Ginny sharply, casting around as if she was looking for a spot to sit down.

"Well, aren't we the Romantic?" laughed Harry teasingly.

"Oh, shut it," snapped Ginny, blushing furiously. She removed the wrapped bundle from the pocket of her cloak, and then shrugged her cloak off. She spread the garment on the ground like a picnic blanket.

"And you came anyway," said Harry, grabbing her hand.

Ginny gave him that blazing look he adored. "Well…yeah. I did."

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment and then Ginny cocked her head to the side as if studying him.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

At the mention of food, his stomach rumbled. In the quiet of the mountaintop, it sounded like the growl of a large dog. They giggled.

"I grabbed some breakfast from the kitchen." She looked around their perch briefly. "But I didn't bring anything to set it on. I hope my cloak will do. It's a bit dusty up here."

Harry cursed himself for not bringing his Invisibility Cloak. It was amazing how, in less than two weeks, he had grown so used to not needing it. He resolved to form a habit of always carrying the thing with him. What with Auror training beginning in a few months, and the looming problems with the Goblins, Harry knew that he might need to be constantly vigilant.

"Blimey!" he mumbled to himself. "I'm starting to think like Mad-Eye."

"Sorry?" asked Ginny, settling herself on the cloak.

"Nothing," shrugged Harry.

They settled themselves side by side on the cloak, facing into the sunrise. They conjured a goblet and water to wash down their meal. In silence, they ate the croissant, sweet breads and bacon that Ginny had brought. They shared the goblet of water between them.

Harry ate ravenously; feeling as if Kreacher's pastries from earlier had never existed. Ginny abruptly laid her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her and was amazed how her red hair turned to fire in the morning sun. His gaze shifted back to the sunrise, and he enjoyed the sensation of the tiny movements of Ginny's head on his shoulder as she chewed, and the shift in weight when she brought the goblet to her lips. Silently together, they watched the sun grow from a sliver on the horizon, to a giant fiery ball barely hanging above the earth.

"I missed you so much," breathed Ginny suddenly, relief palpable in her voice.

Harry put his arm around her and kissed her soft hair.

"Do you know what this is, Ginny?" said Harry, waiving his hand vaguely at the rising sun.

Ginny looked at him questioningly with those beautiful brown eyes shining with the molten gold glinting sunlight.

"This is only the second time in my life that I have watched the sun rise on a day when Voldemort has not been a threat to everyone that I love," said Harry simply.

He exhaled heavily after he spoke. Not until that moment, when he articulated that thought, did he realize the enormity of the change that it rendered in the life he had lived.

"Oh…" said Ginny softly, and Harry felt her hug his arm with both of hers as she leaned into him more heavily. 'Tell me."

And he told her. He told her everything. Everything he had been forced to keep hidden from everyone but Ron and Hermione for the past year, and everything that he would have to keep secret in the future.

He told her about the private lessons with Dumbledore, and the cave, and Dumbledore's death. He told her of Tom Riddle's early life, and of the Horcruxes, and the need to destroy them. He told her about the Deathly Hallows, Grindelwald, the Peverells and his father's invisibility cloak. He told her about getting the locket at the ministry, and Malfoy Manor, and Gringotts, and the fiendfire in the Room of Requirement.

He told her about his scar and how it had been a gateway to Voldemort's mind, and how it had made him master Occlumency. He told her about his critical decision to trust Dumbledore and complete the horcrux hunt. He told her about Snape and his lifelong love for Harry's mother, and how incredibly brave the Potions Master had been for so many long years. Harry told her of sacrificing himself, of walking towards death accompanied by Lily, James, Sirius and Lupin, who had all been brought to him by the Resurrection Stone. He told her of the unknown and strange double bond with Voldemort that had again protected him from the killing curse, which Dumbledore had explained in that strange ghostly replica of King's Cross Station. He told her about the Elder Wand and burying it with Dumbledore. He told her of the potential war with the Goblins, his pending Auror training, Trimble Didact and Harry's concerns about being drawn into the Ministry's politicking.

And she told him everything, too. She told him of the year as it had been at Hogwarts. She told about their rebellion against Snape, their defiance of the Carrows, and their attempted theft of the false Sword of Gryffindor. She told him how Snape's bark had always been worse than his bite throughout the year. Snape's promises of profound retribution that he had made in public had always become simply mundane chores, snide comments, and relatively easy punishments.

She told him how amazing it had been to watch Neville turn from a shy, but brave, teenage boy into a true leader among the students. She told him how Luna's status had gone from a dingbat outcast, to being the D.A.'s strategist. Ginny told how she had formed an impromptu triumvirate with Luna and Neville that led the D.A. in Harry's absence. She told him of their fear and worry after Luna's disappearance, and Ginny's own frustration when she had been forced into hiding at her Auntie Muriel's house.

Back and forth they went. They traded tales, and shared laughs. They held hands, and rested their heads on each other's shoulders, or in each other's laps. They stroked each other's hair, or placed a sympathetic hand to each other's face.

To Harry, it was wonderful.

As they talked, it seemed as if a year of sympathy, commiseration, astonishment and amusement passed between them. Harry would never again keep secrets from Ginny. They would not ever have to play catch up like this again, because Harry suddenly knew that they would always be by each other's side in all their future trials, triumphs and adventures.

Yet as Harry watched her face and how it was alive with laughter as she told the tale of the D.A.'s first graffiti campaign last October, he also realized that he could now look forward to more days like this one. There would be many more times that they would simply sit and talk. They were young, and they were alive, and they were happy in each other's company. For the first time since their first kiss in the Gryffindor common room, this moment with Ginny was not part of someone else's life. It was _his_ life. This time with her was _his_. There were no faceless strangers in her future, it was _his_ face that would be nestled next to hers, and that gave him joy.

For the first time since Voldemort was killed, Harry felt truly free.

As the sun blazed into the sky, Ginny eventually had to cast protective charms to prevent them from getting sunburned. They also conjured more water and multiplied and transfigured some of the crumbs left from their breakfast to make a midday meal.

And they talked and talked.

"Ron was magnificent when he stabbed that locket, Ginny!" explained Harry, in the middle of yet another tale. "That thing attacked him. It attacked him with images of Hermione and me. It almost got him, I think, but he came through strong. I didn't realize until that moment how his relationship with Hermione was _completely_ different from before. Stupid of me, really, since she had cried for weeks after he left."

"He is such a prat!" said Ginny, still fuming at Ron's desertion. She was pulling out her wand. "Git!"

Harry had a sudden image of Ginny departing immediately to the Burrow and casting a bat-bogey hex at Ron. He wanted to laugh. Instead of a bat-bogey hex, Ginny began to cast a Patronus.

"I should let my parents know that we're okay. We've been gone all day," she explained. The sun had definitely crossed the meridian, and was beginning its long descent towards the coming sunset.

"You can do that talking Patronus thing?" asked Harry. Ginny smiled and nodded, obviously enjoying the impressed tone in Harry's voice. Harry watched admiringly as the shimmering white form erupted from her wand and immediately streaked down the hill towards the Burrow.

Then Harry gasped. Ginny's Patronus was a doe!

"Dad taught me, just in case I got into too much trouble with the Carrows and needed help," said Ginny in explanation. Then she caught the astonished look on his face, and she turned a pink color that had nothing to do with sunburn. "Oh that. It changed after Bill's wedding."

"My mother's was a doe!" exclaimed Harry.

"I know. You just told me." She looked thoughtfully after the creature plunging across the countryside. "Strange, isn't it, how that happens?"

"Why did it change?" asked Harry.

"Please, Harry," said Ginny softly. "You are not that clueless, I think."

"Because of me?"

She gave him a sad little smile. Only then did it strike Harry just how much Ginny had longed for him. He was surprised by the depth of it. He realized that it was just as much as he had needed her.

He did not realize he had even moved, but suddenly Ginny was in his arms. Their lips found each other and they kissed deeply. He squeezed her to him, and she gasped at the strength of his embrace. He felt her arms about his neck, pulling him forcefully to her. After a few seconds, he was lifting her off the ground. No longer kissing, he was nestling his face in that fiery red hair, more beautiful than any sunrise. He inhaled the wonderful scent that was Ginny.

"Ahh, Ginny," Harry whispered into her hair, his voice breaking. "I missed you so much. I love you so much."

"Harry," she breathed, speaking at the same time as he. "I love you, Harry."

It was not enough. He had to tell about so much more than just the events and adventures and magical theory with which he had wasted their last few hours together. She had to _know_.

"Ginny," he whispered into her ear as he held her. "I took out the Marauder's Map every day and stared at your dot on it. I used to imagine that if I concentrated on it hard enough, you would know I was thinking of you. Ron, Hermione and I came to this very hilltop on our way to the Lovegoods. I sat looking here across the fields and thought how this was the closest I had been to you since the wedding." His voice was thick with a year's repressed emotion, and Ginny sensed his distress.

"It's allright. We're together now, Love," whispered Ginny. "We're together now."

"I thought of you every day. I worried about you every day. I loved you every day," said Harry, feeling incapable of expressing the depth of his feelings.

He felt Ginny shake and realized that she was crying, and she let out a laugh that was half sob. He held her tighter if that was possible, and she clung to him.

"I saw you in the grounds when I was walking down to the forest to confront Voldemort," continued Harry. "I was under the invisibility cloak, and you were comforting an injured girl."

"I remember," whispered Ginny in a choked voice. Her fingers caressed the hair on the back of his neck. "I felt you walk by. I was _sure_ you had walked by."

Harry nestled deeper into her hair, kissing her neck. "When I thought I was about to die, when Voldemort was about to cast the killing curse in that awful clearing, the last thing I thought about was you, Ginny. When he was casting the curse, I couldn't even hear it. I just thought about kissing you, and holding you."

Ginny pulled back from him slightly, cupping his face in her hands. He gazed at her and she smiled lovingly at him. He saw tears streaking the face of this girl who almost never cried; he felt her thumb wipe away one of his own.

"There is nothing…when I thought you were dead, I…I…" She let out a sob and kissed him again.

Then they were kissing passionately. With a mixture of joy and fear, he felt her hands pulling his shirt over his head. His own shaking hands found some of the buttons of her shirt, ripping one from the fabric in his haste. In the clumsiness of their excitement they fell to the ground. Then she was on top of him, pressing and rubbing against him in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. She made small needful sounds in her throat that excited him in a way that nothing had ever excited him before.

Realizing his shirt was still stuck around his wrist, he tried to shake it off his arm but only managed to whip it around in a ridiculous twirl. Ginny looked at it and giggled. Then she gave him that blazing look, which had a new heavy-lidded quality that made his throat tight.

Then he felt her fingers on his chest, moving down his body. All the muscles of his abdomen tensed in a violent but blissful way as her hands, fumbling in her inexperience, caressed his exposed upper body. The soft flesh he could see through her partially undone shirt lit a passion within him that was no longer fearful, but hungry. He knew his hands were everywhere on her, caressing her and groping her, pulling her towards him with the virility of youth and the wonderful awareness that they were, at this moment, completely alive.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw something shimmering and white bound up next to him. Ginny looked up in alarm.

"Bugger!" she whispered angrily, disappointment dripping from her voice.

Harry looked around to see a silver Jack Russell Terrier. It was staring at him and panting, mere inches from Harry's nose. Harry jerked back with a yelp before realizing that it was a Patronus.

"What the fu…" Harry began, but the ephemeral animal opened its mouth and drowned his epithet.

"You…back…now," it said in a cave man's parody of Ron's voice. "Parents… home …need…both…you." Then the Patronus dissolved.

Harry was dumbstruck, but he felt profound regret as Ginny rolled off of him. She began fixing her shirt, but there was murder in her eyes.

"I will _kill_ him!" she hissed in fury. "Kill!"

Harry sighed deeply in unparalleled frustration, and lay there breathing hard for several seconds. This was not at all pleasant. He sat up dramatically and cast around for his tee shirt. After a moment's search, he barked a laugh and held up his hand. Ginny giggled when she saw that the shirt was still on his wrist, twisted tight by his effort to dislodge it.

"Come on, Handsome," said Ginny, sighing with frustration that matched Harry's. "Get your shirt on or I may not care what my parents say." Then her face grew hard again and she grumbled under her breath, "He can't even do the spell properly!"

"It's not Ron's fault, I reckon," said Harry, though he also felt like giving Ron a punch in the nose. "If they need us, they need us."

"Hmmm," said Ginny doubtfully, with a malicious look on her face. "Don't make excuses for him, Harry! He knew what he was about, the bloody hypocrite."

Within moments they had put their clothes in order well enough so that none could detect what they had been up to. They had cast vanishing spells on the rubbish from their day together. Ginny hugged him fiercely.

"We do need to go back," she said sadly. "I shouldn't have left Mum for so long. She's better, but she will worry."

"Yeah," said Harry, guilt filling him as his hands rubbed her back absently.

They parted and mounted the broom. Before they kicked off, Ginny said brightly, "Fred probably would have thought this was a laugh, don't you think?"

"Yeah, Fred would have laughed," said Harry with a smile. "Then he would have come up here himself and kicked me in the arse."

"Yeah," said Ginny, her voice bursting with affection for her deceased brother as she thought of him throttling Harry. "Yeah, he probably would have done."

Then they kicked off from the ground and were airborne. While the mention of his dead friend still saddened him, it no longer had the power to deflate him. His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Lupin and Tonks were dead, it was true. But Harry was alive. He felt more alive now than he had ever felt.

He thought of George's eulogy for Fred, and a vision suddenly enveloped Harry's senses. The afterlife was filled with Fred's laughter because of Ron's well-timed interruption. Harry saw Lupin and Tonks, holding hands, giving knowing looks. Sirius shouted bawdy encouragement, as Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. But most importantly, Harry could see his mother and father smiling at the feelings in his heart, and nodding their approval.

Harry knew that these dear people reveled in the joy that he felt, and in his love for the girl whose arms were wrapped about him.

The daydream dissipated as the broom picked up speed and Ginny embraced him more tightly. The leisurely pace of their morning flight was forgotten. Harry could hear Ginny's shouts of excitement and glee while he twisted and turned the broom, flying this way and that, cannoning back to the Burrow. He whooped with exhilaration to the countryside below and felt Ginny shake with laughter at his exuberance.

At that moment, Harry knew that Ginny loved him.

He knew that all of the people that they loved most in this world awaited them back at the Burrow.

At such a time, and with such sentiments in his heart, Harry could not feel anything other than wonderfully young, and gloriously alive.

**Author's Note: That is the last chapter, folks. I hope that you have enjoyed this Prelude. I will be submitting an epilogue to this story, which will also be submitted as a prologue to the first installment of the main story. Please keep an eye out for "The Wand of Elder Part I: The Eighth Year." And thanks for all of the kind reviews so far!**


	17. Epilogue

Alexander cringed again as his uncle cast a last cold glance towards him before shutting the bedroom door. With his absence, the temperature in Alexander's room seemed to rise a few degrees. Alexander exhaled. The ordeal was over, at least for tonight.

His uncle had been terrible since his meeting with Harry Potter. Something had happened in that meeting that had made Trimble Didact even colder than his normal metallic demeanor.

Alexander shook his head. He was only shaking it to clear the unpleasant aftereffects of his uncle's penetrating Legillimency. He was just tired from his uncle's invasive manner of determining if Alexander had completed his set tasks for the day. He was not shaking his head to clear the fluid that he felt welling behind his eyes. Alexander was merely a bit dazed. He was not sad. He would not weep.

Weeping was for those with less sturdy mental constitutions than he. He followed the mold of his powerful uncle. He had incredible willpower for a boy of eleven. And his uncle had repeatedly told him that the Didact family did not weep over trifles such as a rebuke from a guardian.

He turned his thoughts away from his Uncle. But weeping still sprang to his mind. He had thought a lot about weeping lately. He had thought about it ever since he went to his secret place.

He often felt the need for refuge when his uncle's tongue became sharp. This occurred almost daily, because such a great man as Trimble Didact had little patience for the trifling of a boy such as Alexander. His uncle often told Alexander this simple fact of life.

Alexander had been lucky the day after the Battle, however. He had been lucky to be at Hogwarts when his uncle's mood turned sour. Hogwarts had been Alexander's refuge for the past year, particularly the spot in the Forest. Even when his uncle had stormed back into their allotted quarters, fresh from his mysterious interview with Harry Potter, and with criticism and spite dripping from his lips, Alexander had known where to go for solace.

He had gone to be among the Spiders.

In his first few months at Hogwarts, Alexander had discovered three things. The first and most unpleasant of these things was that he did not seem to get along well with the other children in his year. They could not understand the expectations of his uncle, or the obligations of the name of Didact. They were too distracted by their young inanities and their own little petty rivalries. He did not begrudge them their pastimes, but Alexander did not have time for such things.

So his schoolmates left him alone, and he left them alone, to their mutual satisfaction. Alexander did not feel a sharp pang of loneliness thinking about it now. Not in the least. And if he did, he would squash the emotion as his uncle would have done.

The second of his discoveries was that he was _very_ good at magic. He had quickly established himself as the most talented wizard of his year. Alexander was driven and smart, and he knew it. What's more, his fellow students had known it. The Ravenclaws had warmed to his otherwise detached manner when he began earning house points at a record clip.

But the third and strangest of his discoveries had concerned, of all things, spiders. He had discovered that the clicking and scuttling of Spiders seemed to make sense to him. He always remembered having an affinity for the creatures, and a fascination for their creepy forms. Yet, as his magic grew and as he learned control, he began to see that spiders did not only make sense to _him_, he made sense to _them_.

He was soon able to turn his affinity into understanding, and ultimately, control. That is, the Spiders began to do what he wanted them to do. And, from the tilt of a leg or the way they canted their body, he began to understand what the creatures needed or wanted.

Alexander had researched the phenomenon in the library and had quickly discovered that he had a particular Talent. He found that he was an Aranea Familiar. This was a rare ability that was often, but not always, associated with dark wizards. It allowed him to command and communicate with those eight-legged denizens of the world. Most importantly for Alexander, it had become a key to staunching the initial feelings of loneliness that he refused to admit he suffered.

It was odd, actually, with the little ones. The spiders around the castle did not talk, or anything like that. They simply wanted dark safe places and, perhaps, a warm bug or two. But then, just before leaving for the Christmas holidays, Alexander had innocently ventured to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He had encountered a larger spider. It had almost seemed able to speak. It had made known to him the fact that there were even larger brethren deeper in the Forest.

Intrigued, Alexander had broken the rules for the first time at his new school and entered the Forbidden Forest. He had ventured into its dank depths and discovered the Tribe of Aragog.

These spiders, the Acromantulas as wizards called them, had been a boon to Alexander. He would not call them friends exactly. Yet they certainly were not people who demanded that he devote himself exclusively to his studies and to upholding the family name. The spider's glade had been his refuge throughout the year, and they had accepted the strange little boy and his peculiar affinity for them.

Thus it was that Alexander had sought his little tribe when his uncle had returned from his meeting with Harry Potter. Trimble Didact's eyes had cast silently cold abuse while his mouth had simply formed a thin disapproving line. Alexander had fled the castle and sought out the glade of the spidery tribe. He had found it empty of all but a few of the smallest and youngest of Aragog's descendants. These remnants of the spiders had communicated to Alexander their great and terrible fear of an innocuous looking patch of grass, and the small cracked stone that Alexander had found within.

Alexander had bent down and enfolded the cracked stone in his small hands. That is when he heard the terrible weeping.

In his bedroom, Alexander shoved his head under the covers and closed his young eyes tight in an effort to drive the memory from his mind. Such a sound as he hoped he would never hear again. Against his will and his uncle's training, Alexander whimpered in his bed as he remembered the image that had appeared shimmering in that Forest Glade.

_A man appeared as Alexander held the Stone. A twisted, scarred and terrible man. _

_The man, or the ghost perhaps, appeared somehow…broken. He was a man, but he was also many wretched little things writhing amongst each other. It was like he had been torn to pieces or shattered like heavy crystal. _

_His voice sounded as if it came from many disparate throats. It was a high cold rasp just out of the range of hearing. Whispers of loss, and hopelessness and defeat had drifted through the dark air of the glade. The man knew that something had changed, and had noticed the world around him. Yet the torn things had gasped their frustration in many airy groans. The man had looked around the glade mournfully, and seemed to despair at the nearness of it._

_And it had wept. Oh, how the man, how the torn things, had wept at the loss!_

Alexander curled into a fetal ball and tried to push the thoughts from his head, feeling his gorge rise as the terrible images washed over him. Alexander had felt paralyzed at the horrible being before him in the glade. He had stood and simply hoped that the torn things would not notice him. And now, many days later, in the safety of his bed, Alexander dreaded the memory of the torn things turning slowly towards him. The man had realized that he was not alone.

The man, the torn things, had looked at Alexander with twisted eyes and said something. Alexander had run after hearing the single word that was uttered. The boy had dropped the stone from his hands and run flat out for all of the many miles to the edge of the forest. He had…

Alexander could not bear to think of it. It was too much for even his disciplined mind. He felt hot bile in his throat. He was smothering under the blankets of his bed. Alexander thought of the evil red eyes overflowing with destructive malice. Against his will, Alexander thought of the chilling word screeching from the throat of the torn man.

"_Revenge!"_

And Alexander wept.

**_A/N: Well, that's the end of the Prelude. Sorry for the long delay in posting, but I am trying to get several chapters of the next part in the story up to scratch so that the wait will be shorter in the future. Keep an eye out for my next post which will be Chapter 1 of the next part of our story: The Goblin Year, Part I of The Wand of Elder. _**


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